Redemption
by olafur
Summary: MJ, an exgangster, has a vendetta, and the Purple Dragons are his target. Guiltridden, his tormented life and purpose takes a turn when he crosses paths with four mutated turtles and one large rat, but that is only the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**Author: Before you begin reading this story, I wish to say something.**

**Redemption is...a different kind of an OC fic. At least, that's what I want to belive. See, as far as I know, allTMNT OC stories here have an OC, the turtles and sometimes the Shredder. With Redemption I want to involve more of the TMNT's cartoon world, meaning that Redemption won't just have the turtles. I know, it's risky as hell, but my aim with this fic is a big one, and so far no one has complained. I do hope more people will give this fic a chance, since the turtles won't make an imidiate appearance, though one of them does come with a bang...**

**Anyway, if you like what I'm doing here, then please don't hesitate to review. I know I sound needy, but reading that people like what I'm doing always brightens me up, and I doubt I'm the only one.**

**Oh yeah, and just because some people in this fic curse, doesn't mean the turtles will. Well, except for Raph. The rest just stick with shell. Changing that is just plain silly.**

Disclaimer: I do not own TMNT or any of the TMNT characters. I have also just borrowed the names Grove Street and Emet from a video game, that's all. Please R&R.

WARNING: This story is dark, has swearing, violance, gore and killing. Not for very sensitive people.

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_I waited half an hour longer after the Purple Dragon punks got back from their little robbery. Not to my surprise, they acted as if they had knocked off Fort Knox and were drinking and dancing like there was no tomorrow. They didn't worry the slightest about someone hearing their little victory party, since the place we were in was inside an abondend warehouse in the middle of a construction site. Found out later they had robbed four 7-11 stores in a row without getting caught._

_There were eight in the gang with only me against them, but I had faced worse numbers before. They had been armed with small guns, though two of them had been packing automatics, but by now they had all tossed them asside, completly forgotten. Their mistake._

_They didn't even notice me when I came out of the shadows, but when I loaded my AK it was like I had fired a shot. They all fell silent when they saw me, complete surprise written on all their faces._

"Grove Street for life," _I simply said, then started shooting. _

_They never had a chance._

_Thinking back, I belive the youngest of them must have been around nineteen, maybe eighteen years old, but at that point, it didnt mean a Goddamn thing to me. The Dragons had killed younger people, some of them were from Grove Street, the rest from some other gangs or someone who just got in their way of taking over the streets. Besides, they all knew what they were getting themselves into the moment they got those dragon tattos inked on. Those that didn't, well, too bad for them._

_The ones that I didn't get when I started shooting scrambled away and tried to run, with one or two reaching for their weapons, but I got them all. Had a lot of practice shooting at moving targets. I think the gunfight, if you could call it that, lasted about fifteen seconds, none ofthem scumbags managed to fire a shot. They were getting sloppy, them Purple Dragons. Sure, when they first started taking over the streets all those years ago, they were as tough as they could get and then some, but these days, with most of the streets in their colours and not that many offering much of a fight, they were getting lazy, accepting pretty much anyone into their ranks._

_Didn't bother ejecting the near-empty clip. There was no need, I got them all. Walking up to the table where they had dumped the money, I placed as many as I could into one of the bags, then sprayed the green street symbol of Grove Street on one of the walls, to make sure that the Purple Dragons would know it was me again._

_I then left the place after torching the remaining money. Another night, another kill. And somehow I'm still alive. Same repeat next night. Until I would reach that final night. But before that, I needed to pay another visit to Emet._

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It was a sunny morning outside Emet's garage, which was located where the...less wealthier people of New York lived. Walking towards Emet's garage was a young man looking like he was in his early twenties, dark-brown hair, pale green eyes, height slightly above average, his face looking a bit skinny but his bodyframe was between slim and medium built. His skin tone was a bit pale and he looked like he hadnt slept in a while. Wearing dark-green trousers, a grey jacket and a pair of old running shoes that had seen better days, he made his way behind the garage, where Emet usually worked. A simple duffel bag was slung across his right shoulder.

"Yo Emet! Where you at?" The place behind the garage held several cars, some were suppose to get repaired, others were meant for other things. The sound of something metal hitting the floor echoed in one of the bays, and an african-american man in his late sixtys appeared among the cars, wearing a dirty mechanic overalls.

"M.J., had a feeling you would show up again," Emet didn't sound unfriendly, but it did come close to it. If M.J. noticed, he didnt show it.

"I need the usuall, Emet."

"Of course you do."

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Emet pulled the old blanket away on the floor in his office, revealing an old wooden hatch. Opening it, both Emet and M.J. made their way down. Flipping on the light revealed stacks of boxes and several firearms that had been mounted on the wall.

"So what do you need?"

"Four or five AK-47 clips, eight 9mm clips and couple of shotgun boxes. Speaking of which, have you gotten yourself a hold on a 12-gauge yet?" Asked M.J., as if he was ordering pizza, while Emet started digging in one of the boxes.

"Don't be stupid. I don't deal in that kind of high hardware, it would only get someone's attention, now, even more since elections are coming up next year, and it looks like the mayor and the gov'nor are starting to put some pressure on the police to uphold the law and that shit. Puplicity stunt, nothing new as you know. Things will go low again after the elections, mark my words," replied Emet as he picked up some ammo clips from the box.

"Funny how people are all nice when they need something. I see you still got that SMG. How much?"

Emet named the price.

"Not a problem. I'll buy three clips with it too," hearing that, Emet stopped searching the box for a moment, then continued as if nothing had happened.

"That's a big load of shit you need today, M.J. Since when did you became so damn loaded?"

"Got lucky last night. Anyone that needs any favors?" Judging by Emet's expression, he had hoped M.J. wouldn't ask.

"...yeah...yeah, there's one. You remember that old rundown building you kids sometimes used to practice sneaking around?"

"We practised in three buildings."

"Right. It's the one near Reeces' barber shop."

"Oh yeah, that one. Yeah I remember."

"Well, couple of months ago it got taken over and it's now a crackhouse. The one running it is Tyler Hermendes. Goes by the name Big T. All mouth and no balls. I know a friend who knows a friend who knows for a fact that Big T's dealers are loading themselves up big time, an' the word on the streets is that their gonna sell some of it to school kids. Real soulless bastards."

"Purple Dragons?"

"Big T and his crew got their tatts last week."

"I'll do it tonight," as MJ said these words, Emet visibly flinched, as if he had just lost his patience.

"Goddamnit M.J.! Can't you hear yourself! Your talking about walking into a place and killing everyone in it! And for what!"

"You know why, Emet," M.J. replied cooly, while looking over one of Emet's pistols.

"Goddamnit, M.J.! It's almost been a year and you've been killing all those Purple Dragons for nearly SIX MONTHS NOW! I heard it in the radio this morning that they found those poor bastards at that construction site! That means your body count has reached forty people! FORTY PEOPLE! Doesn't that have any kind of an effect on you, boy!" M.J. stopped checking the pistol and looked at Emet, eyes slightly narrowed but remained silent. A minute passed in silence until.Emet took a deep breath, this time speaking calmer.

"Look, Grove Street was something you could be proud of; you kids stood for something. Sure, you weren't exactly angels, but you stood to your ideals that created the gang in the first place, all those years ago. Grove Street wasin't in the drug bussiness an' you didn't demand protection money; People could rely on you to keep the streets clean when the police didn't bother to. But...well, it was only a matter of time before the gang would end, since everyone else were expanding, smuggling, drugs, buying heavy hardware, keeping up with the times. I'm actually surprised Grove Street managed to go on for so long. You're a bright kid, M.J. You've got a good heart, I know 'cause I've seen it, damnit! Your no natural killer like some of those soulless bastards! Ever since you started on this damn quest for revenge, I've seen you slowly wither away! I mean, just look at you! You look like a walking corpse, for Christ's sake! I'm asking you, no, _begging_ you, to walk away before those sons-of-bitches find out who you are. You can still leave New York and start your own life."

There was desperation and pleading in the old man's eyes, and for a while M.J. refused to look at them, instead keeping his gaze on the arsenal he was buying. For a moment, his hard gaze slowly changed into something that resembled regret, and for a moment Emet thought he had finally managed to reach out to the kid. But then M.J. closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then looked at Emet.

"Your a good man, Emet, you taught me a lot of things when I worked at this place. But when they took me in, they gave me more then just a meaning in life; they made me a part of something worth living for and what I did when they needed me the most is unforgivable. I'm sorry, Emet, but this is something that needs to be done. To hell what my emotions are," and with that, M.J. started placing the weapons he bought in his duffel bag.

A hurtfull expression was on Emet's face, but the old man now knew he could not convince the youngster to stop his bloody crusade.

"So, you're just going to keep on killing? Untill you get yourself killed?"

"...yes. And don't try to use the Bible on me, old man. Heaven, Hell, I really don't care about those. Only that when I die, I'll be able to look straight into my homies' eyes without flinching. That's what only matters to me now. Its all I got left."

M.J. closed his duffel bag, slung it across his shoulders and left behind an envolope with money in it. Neither of them made eye contact, as M.J. walked up the stairs, leaving Emet in the basement. The old man sat at his desk and buried his face in his hands, a sorrowfull expression behind them.

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_Fifteen hours later..._

M.J. retched, but nothing more came out of his mouth. Curling next to the toilet in his apartmend, still dressed in the same clothes he had worn during the killing, now reeked of burned ash and blood. Cold sweat plastered his dirty face, and an all too familiar feeling slowly returned. The feeling that made him re-live everything that had happened, every action, every detail and every killing.

M.J. squeezed his eyes shuts, fighting hopelessly to block it all out, but already he could see the street where the crackhouse was.

It was time to lose a piece of himself once more.

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Four Hours earlier...

_Even across the street, I can smell the stench coming from the drug lab inside the crackhouse. The building in question used to be where some of us homies hung around, planned the next street race or break-ins, and also just sneaking around. 'course, we did most of the break-ins to enemy gangs or houses that the owners could afford getting robbed. You'd be surprised to know how many rich people don't lock their doors._

_We had two other such buildings where we practised and had fun, and I know every inch of them by heart. This one has four floors, and the best place to have a drug lab would be on the top floor. Big T is probably up there as well. No way of telling how many guards there are, or how many people are there to simply get highso I'll just have to try to sneak in as close as I can, kill Big T and torch the lab. Brought with me 9mm with a silencer and a pump-action shotgun for close combat. Some of the rooms inside are pretty small._

_Time to do this._

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M.J. walked across the street some distance away from the crackhouse, then made his way towards it by sneaking in closely, hiding behind parked cars, and dumbsters. There were guards at the front entrance, so walking inside that way was out of the question. There was, however, an alley next to the front doors that led to the building's backdoor. M.J. had sneaked as close as he dared, but the distance from his hiding spot and the alley was too great. It was clear the guards were bored out of their skulls, yakking, telling jokes and smoking 'something' that was definately not just cigarettes. However, one or two did glance around once in a while. One glance could ruin everything.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, MJ noticed someone, an obvious junkie, head towards the crackhouse, his walk and other movements suggesting that it had been a while since his last fix.He made it to the entrance, but the guards stopped him, wanting him to pay a cover fee. The junkie objected and the guards demanded. M.J. didn't listen closely since, now, here was his chance.

Stepping up behind the dumbster, as if it were the most natural thing to do, MJ calmly walked closer to the guards, then turned towards the alley.

One of the guards noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eyes, but just before he could turn to look, the junkie tried to run pass the guards without paying. He was thrown back on the street and the guards decided to pass some time by beating the dumbass up a bit.

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The alley was dark and narrow, steam coming out of the street. Most of the windows in the building had been boarded up, while booming music drifted out of some. Probably more bored guards. Hopefully..

M.J. slowly made his way towards stairs that led down to the basement's door, careful in keeping to the shadows. Not surprisingly, the door was locked, but M.J. bent down and removed a small bit of rubble in the wall next to the door, then reached into the small hole and pulled out a rusty key. Unlocking the door, M.J. opened it and slowly sneaked inside. The basement was actually the boiler room, and the two old boilers looked like they had been clumsily fixed, looking as if they were on the verge of falling to pieces. In the corner was an old wooden table with all kinds of junk and sitting in front of it, with his back to M.J., was one of Big T's goons. Somehow, he had managed to doze off, despite the noise coming from the boilers when he was supposed to be watching the door that M.J. had just come through.

M.J. walked up to him, grabbed his head and smashed it into the table.

"What the-"

"Where's Big T?" hissed M.J. into his ear.

"Who the hell-" M.J. smashed his head back into the table again.

"Where. Is. Big. T?"

"F-fourth floor, man! H-honest!" stuttered the frightened goon, blood coming out of his nose. M.J. smashed his head back into the tableonce more, and knocking him out cold. But before he could move on, a door just beyond the table, opened.

"Hey Lefty! What's with all the-" the punk stopped in mid-sentence upon seeing M.J. and an unconscious Lefty. A gun was sticking out the top of the punk's pants, but before he could even think of using it, M.J. swiftly pulled out the silencer and shot him right through his left eye. The body slumped against the wall and then fell to the floor, still having a surprised expression on his face. M.J. walked pass the body and went though the doors that lead into a staircase going up.

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The first floor had a couple of ruined apartments, some walls had been busted out to make for bigger rooms. It was obvious the first floor had the most junkies, some of them simply too lazy to take the stairs. Speaking of which, there were two different ways of reaching the second floor. The first was in the lobby and M.J. was in the room next to it. Another one was on the other side of the building, but the risk of getting noticed by whatever guards or dealers were there was just too damn great.

M.J. hid the shotgun inside his jacket and walked into the lobby. On his left was the entrance and he could hear the sounds of a fight happening outside To his right were metal bars turned into doors and, on the other side, stood a woman wearing tattered clothes that exposed the needle marks on her arms.

"Open up."

"No way! I don't know you, which means your just another one of those losers! If you wanna go up, take the other stairs like the rest of the losers!" The fight outside sounded like it had ended so there was no telling if some of the guards were about to come in. Reaching into his pocket, M.J. pulled out twenty dollars and handed it over to the woman, but snapped it back when she reached for it.

"First open the gate," his voice was almost monotone and left little to argue with.

"Fine!" Pissed at the treatment, the woman opened up the gate, while cursing. M.J. walked through, handed the money over and walked up to the second floor.

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"Just what the hell is going on? I heard the guys outside are chargin' entrance fee all of a sudden," whined one of the two guards standing next to a staircase going up.

"That's what the big man wanted."

"Sheesh, no wonder there are so few of 'em downstairs! Why the hell did Big T order that anyway?"

"'cause all the stuff they've been makin' is just sittin' there, and if word got among the junkies here about it all, we'd have a totall riot on our hands. Just a fact, really," the other punk opened his mouth to say something, when booming music came from above, and pieces of the ceiling fell around them.

"Damn! If this keeps they'll literally bring the roof down on us!"

"Yeah, sounds like the boys are testing that stereo they snatched the other night. Real hardcore. Wonder how many CD's it can take."

"Hey man, never mind that! What's really botherin' me is that-"

A loud crash suddenly came from the next room.

"The hell was that?"

"Eh, probably nothing. Just some junkie with a bad dream."

"But...there isn't suppose to be anyone in there."

"...let's check it out."

The two punks drew their guns and walked towards the room, leaving the staircase unguarded. A window next to it opened, and M.J. crawled through, stealthily exited the room and then walked silently up the stairs to the third floor.

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M.J. walked through hallways and rooms without being seen, carefully navagating through rooms as if he had done it a hundred times. Even though there was little chance of someone hearing him over the loud music that some of the guards were listening to, he still moved as silently as he could, sneaking past guards who some had trouble staying awake, while a few snored shamelessly in chairs or dirty sofas.

Finally, he reached the door he wanted, and, where the loudest music came from it, the door, with the walls and even the ceiling slightly vibrated from the noise. And because of it there was no telling how many there were in there. Two, five, eleven or maybe even thirty guys. It didn't matter. It never did. The stealth part was now over, and the ugly part was next.

The music that was playing was an old Rammstein song. M.J. couldn't remember it's name, but he knew in couple of seconds, the loudest part of the song would come and would last around ten to fifteen seconds. With luck, the noise would drown out the gunfire.

M.J. holstered his silencer, brought up the shotgun, opened the door and walked in.

The living room had an old round desk with five guards playing poker, all wearing Purple Dragon tattooes and none of them having noticed him yet. In the corner, on M.J.'s right, was a big screen T.V. and two more guards playing Tekken 5, their backs to him, they also not having heard him enter the room over all the noise. Not saying a word, M.J. aimed the shotgun at the center of the guards playing poker and fired. One guard's chest sprayed in blood as the corpse fell to the floor, and a slug hit another guard in the right shoulder, causing him to fall through the window behind him. While the two guards that had been playing the video game turned around in surprise, M.J. jacked the shotgun and aimed at a dirty looking guard making a move towards the table where their guns were.M.J. fired and the guard's face was ripped apart.

The final guard made a run towards the stairs. However, M.J. shot at him and he fell, his back bloodily torn. One of the two remaining punks in the room reached into his jacket in a panicked move, while the other was still frozen in fear M.J. jacked the shotgun a second time, aimed at the panicked guard, and fired. The body flew backwards into the big screen T.V. and both the man and television crashed to the floor. M.J. jacked again and aimed at the remaining guard

But he didn't shoot.

Because the guard was not one of Big T's crew. The terrified kid looked to be around fifteen to sixteen years old and had no Purple Dragon tattoo or color anywhere. Probably a wanna-be, hoping to get in if he hung around the ones that were already in, or still had to do some tests or trials to prove himself.

M.J. silently stepped away from the door, lowering his shotgun. The kid blinked repeatadly, then started slowly walking towards the door, while keeping as much distance from M.J. as possible without looking away from the shotgun. When the kid was at the door, he ran as fast as he could. M.J. turned away from the door and walked towards the stairs leading up to the fourth floor while reloading the shotgun.

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"Hey, did you guys hear anything?"

"Like what?"

"Dunno, thought I heard gunfire."

"Hey man, I wouldn't let the boss hear ya, he's paranoid enough as it is. I mean, just look at 'im over there, pacing back an' forth among all the narc we been makin', as if the Grim Reaper himself was comin' for 'im."

"Yeah. Any idea why he's so damn worked up? Big T's always been paranoid, but now? Shit, you'd think us now being _proud_ members of the Purple Lizards-"

"Dragons, dumbhead."

"Whatever! You'd think he'd cool off just a bit since no one's stupid enough to attack somethin' that the Dragons own. Hell, even the damn police haven't made a patrol near this 'hood. But instead, he sends most our boys downstairs an' outside, while there are only three of us on this entire stinkin' floor, lookin' out for our white gold here."

"Yo all ask me, I think da boss is hopin' to impress someone high up in da Dragons to move up da ladder an' all. An' if that happens, hell, he'll probably forget all about us, man."

"Nah man, you think so?"

"Would I-"

Kicking the door open, M.J. saw that the entire fourth floor had been converted in nearly one big room, in a mock resemble of a hotel's penthouse. On the other side of the room, he could see the drug lab, still cooking some more white 'stuff', while at the center of the room, the lab's production had been stashed; sealed in plastic bags, with the heroine bags placed on four long tables. If one could guess, a ton of heroine was ready to hit the streets. Standing among the tables was a figure, too far away to see well enough. On M.J.s' right were three more guards, sitting on sofas in front of a TV that had been turned off, all packing heat.

Firing, M.J. got one but the other two jumped expertly behind their sofas, while the one who was standing among the heroine bags shouted something loud in Spanish. Jumping to his left and taking cover behind what was once a kitchen counter, M.J. jacked the shotgun and raised up to shoot again, only to bend down quickly as the two remaining guards opened fire on him. When the shooting stopped, M.J. stood up again but the two guards had taken cover. Out of the corner of his eye, MJ noticed movement and turned, now facing the tables where Big T had pulled out an uzi. Without aiming properly, M.J. shot and the shells shredded the heroin bags in front of Big T, the white powder going all over him.

M.J. didn't understand a word in Spanish, but he did know heavy swearing when he heard it.

With Big T distracted, M.J. quickly got up and charged towards the sofas. One of the two guards, probably just taking a quick look, poked his head from his cover. His eyes widened in surprise at the charging M.J. and the last thing he saw was a flash coming from the shotgun, blowing away the guard's head. But when M.J. fired that shot, he passed by the door he had just come through, and saw the other guard standing right next to him. Must have made his way when they fired, probably planned on flanking M.J. The guard had his gun raised, but there was not enough time to load the shotgun and turn to aim. As fast as he could, M.J. moved his right elbow up and then thrusted the blunt point of the shotgun with all his strength at the guard. The blow hit the side of the guard's neck, followed by the sound of breaking bone, with the body crumbling to the floor. The shot that came from the guard's gun passed by M.J.'s head by couple of inches. Jacking his shotgun, M.J. turned in time to see Big T taking aim at him with the uzi.

Dropping to the floor as Big T fired, M.J. quickly crawled towards the sofas as bullets ripped apart everything around him. Over all the shooting, Big T shouted curse after curse in Spanish, too pissed to even aim properly. When the bullets stopped coming for three seconds, M.J. quickly stood up from his cover and charged towards Big T, who tried desperetly to quickly reload. M.J. fired at him, but Big T was too far away and the slugs spread out, none hitting him, but they did the heroine. Big T cursed some more and made a run towards one of the rooms. M.J. fired again but missed a second time, as Big T made for one of the rooms. M.J. jacked the shotgun and stopped at the door. The room was one of Big T's drug labs, row after row of all the equipments and materials required to make whatever drug was needed. Some distance away in front of M.J. was the man himself, jumping towards cover. M.J. fired but Big T had already reached cover behind a sturdy looking desk. M.J. was about to reload the shotgun again but froze when he saw what his bullets had hit.

A couple of feet away from Big T's cover was a large gas tank. One of many, in fact, that were all around the lab room. Big T emerged from his cover at that moment, oblivious to what was behind him and aimed his uzi at M.J. But before he could fire a shot, the tank exploded, engulfing Big T and everything around him in fire for one brief moment. But then, more tanks exploded simultaniosly, and the shockwave surged towards M.J., throwing him backwards like a bus had just hit him. He flew straight through an already half ruined wall, knocking the breath out of him and landed hard on the floor, the shotgun gone and forgotten. His eyes were all blurry and high pitch ringing filled his ears. He felt as if he were about to pass out, but then he could hear more explosions shaking the entire building. The shaking made parts of the ceiling above M.J. come crashing down.

M.J. just barely rolled out of the way as a support beam, as big as a car, crashed through the floor and down to the next one. The fire was spreading fast, though, and smoke was everywhere. M.J. ached all over as he slowly raised himself, although he didn't fully stand up, otherwise he would have breathed in the smoke. Making his way towards one of the windows as fast as he could on his shaky feet, M.J. smashedthe glassand climbed out and onto the old fire-escape. When he was only a couple of meters down, another explosion came from the burning fourth floor, which shook the ladder so hard, that M.J. lost his grip. Amazingly, he didn't scream out as he fell down, but when he landed he did try to scream, but his lungs felt like they had suddenly stopped working. For about a minute he just lay there, desperetly trying to get air back into his lungs, and then he slowly stood up again. He wasin't in the same alley he had gone through earlier, but this one would do just fine.

Half slumbed and limping, M.J. escaped into the night.

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_I take deep breaths, feeling my heart pounding as if it were inside my head as I realised it's over, that I'm sitting next to the toilet in my apartmend. Ever heard about people who snap and go into full fury and then remember it as if they simply stood by and watched themselves go berserk? That's what happens to me after...after I kill. When I've just barely gotten away from some place that the Purple Dragons own, I get these...flashbacks. In just split seconds I re-live every damn action I've made, only in these flashbacks everything is so detailed, I see things that escaped me during the action itself, and the memories are forever burned into my mind. I remember the eye colors of each and every Purple Dragon member, whether if the eyes were surprised, full of anger or hate or never had the chance to realise what I was about to do. I remember in what pattern their tattooes were, their clothes, how they smelled and the sounds...oh, the sounds...the sound of a bullet slowly ripping through skin, meat and bone. Of a neck breaking. The death scream. Of the places where they happened. _

_I remember everything._

_And these flashes...when they end, they take a part of me with them, probably a part of my soul. I can't explain it. It's just a sensation that I feel every time, like I am somehow becoming less and less inside, becoming empty. I don't even dare to think what will happen when there is nothing more inside of me to claim, what I'll become when that happens._

_I wasn't even supposed to survive my first attack against the Purple Dragons, six months ago. Stumbled on them one night by sheer chance, actually. They were waiting for someone to make a deal with, probably drugs or weapons, I don't know. I never found out. There were ten of them, and seven of themt were packing. And all I had was that old antique gun from the forties I was given when I joined Grove Street, this bucket of bolds that had always looked like it was about to fall apar, only capable of having 17 bullets in it's clip. I don't know how many times it had jammed when I practised with it when I first got it. It was mostly given to me as a joke, since no one wanted it._

_Only, it didn't jam on me at that time. I didn't even plan how to attack, I only saw them and simply attacked, hoping to get one, maybe two before they got me. Instead, I got them all. Every last one of them. At least...I think I did. The memory of that event is all a bit blurry, but I do remember the shooting, the yelling, the...death. I don't know why, but I just can't seem to remember how I ended up in one of those homeless shelters afterwards. I can remember walking towards that condemned warehouse near the one of the harbors, after that...it gets all chaotic. But I can remember going after those Purple Dragons and since I'm still around then that must mean I did survive, somehow against all odds when I shouldn't had. But it doesn't make any sense..._

_I was suppose to die that night. I feel like the doctor has told me I have two weeks to live. Three months later and I'm still alive, but the doctor isn't returning my calls. I feel like a total wreck inside and sometimes it shows on the outside, but I try to hide it. Try to mask it by looking like a cold hearted son-of-a-bitch. I need to be hated. Makes what I do just a little bit easier, though that not saying much._

_I should have died that night..._

* * *

AUTHOR: The turtles will make appearance soon. 


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR: Wow, didn't think I'd been getting so many great reviews! Y'all tell your friends, please? Anyway, can't take all the credits, Very special thanks to Dierdre who beta this chapter and pointed out misspells on my part that just me feel shamefull. I would also like to use this opportunity and thank Reinbeauchaser who beta the first chapter. Truly hope she'll forgive me for forgetting to mention it.

**WARNING**: This chapter has swearing, violence and there are mentions of some drug use. You have been warned.

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_**...the stench is so powerful, my eyes are almost watery...**_

_**...a brown river of waste...**_

_**...I look down and see four small red stones attached to my body...**_

_**...they are melting, the redness slowly spreading everywhere on me...**_

_**...voices...**_

_**...they're hunting someone...**_

_**...they're hunting for me...**_

_**...they're going to kill me...**_

_**...can't let them find me...**_

_**...I...**_

_**...I...**_

**_...I don't want to die..._**

_**...something bursts through the smelly water...something big...**_

_**...it attacks the hunters...**_

_**...begging...**_

_**...screams...**_

_**...shooting...**_

_**...a demonic roar...**_

_**...I see it now...**_

_**...a giant of a demon...**_

_**...glowing yellow eyes...**_

_**...it sees me...its roar as it charges towards me shakes everything...**_

_**...it moves at an impossible speed given its size...**_

_**...saliva leaking between its many sharp teeth...**_

**_Oh God It GOT me it's so angry so FURIOUS _**

_**It opens its massive MOUTH oh God it's going to DEVOUR me-**_

_**It's-**_

_I wake up with a muffled scream inside my throat as I fall off my bed. I lay on the floor for several minutes, breathing hard and trying to convince myself it was just a nightmare. Only... I've been having the same nightmare for months now. Not every night, but... twice, often three times a week. Sometimes more. And it doesn't always happen in that smelly place. Not yet, anyway. Sometimes I'm in that warehouse where I first started my killing spree six months ago. I think... I am running from something, or someone, and then I fall down a dark hole that opens up in the ground. It is then that I'm in that place of stench. I continue to run until..._

_The nightmare gets too chaotic at that point for me to remember. I can feel several parts just disappear as I wake up. But so far, it has always ended with that... thing coming towards me to grab me, its massive bulk shadowed so I can't see _what_ it isBut its piss-yellow eyes are glowing and fixed on me, and there is no love in its gaze._

_I take deep breath through my nose and then realize that I need a bath. Badly._

…………………………

M.J. stood in front of the bathroom mirror, clean and wearing nothing but a fresh pair of boxers. His gaze slowly traveled over his body, while he tried not to look at his own face for too long. M.J.'s body frame was nothing spectacular, though some parts of his pale skin told that he had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. Other then that, nothing really stood out, except for M.J.'s tattoos. Across the center of his chest, where his heart was, were the words **Grove 4 Life** inked in bold words. And on his left forearm was a tattoo of a revolver aiming at whoever looked at it, as well as a cross with a snake around it on his right. But M.J.'s gaze was not at his tatts, his skin or his body frame, but on something else.

Spread randomly across his chest and belly were four... pink-ish spots. The spots weren't big. In fact, when M.J. firstrecalled seeing them, he thought it was some kind of heat allergy since the summer was coming up, or possibly the chicken pox. But after they had been on his body for over three months **--**God only knew how long they had _really_ been there**--** it was clear to him that it wasn't going away anytime soon. In fact,** a** couple of weeks ago M.J. had taken a closer look, slowly tracing the spots on his skin, only to find that they were part of his flesh, like a scar or something.

Perhaps M.J. had been wounded and hadn't realized it? Doubtful. Maybe a sign of stress or something similar? Possibly, considering what M.J. had been doing for half a year.

It could also be cancer, but that was a possibility M.J. preferred not to dwell on.

Grunting in slight frustration, M.J. turned away from the mirror and walked back to his room.

…………………………

_To call my newest apartment a dump would be an insult to all dumps everywhere. The biggest of the three rooms is a living room with a kitchen in the corner, followed by a bathroom and my bedroom. The walls, and what little furniture I got, all look like they're slowly rotting. The less said about the smell, the better. And to top it all off, my place is near a subway bridge, where a train passes by every hour. This is my third apartment in four months, but believe me, my second was a whole lot worse. Been switching now and then, if only to decrease the chances of having someone tail me after I've done my thing, or having someone living nearby put two and two together. You'd be surprised how many people have too much time on their hands; they gotta pass it somehow, if only by spying on their neighbors._

M.J., fully dressed, yawned hugely and looked at his watch.

_10:03AM. Shit, only got about three hours of sleep this time. But I've had shorter. Guess I'd better have a double espresso with breakfast. Heh, funny. Last year I hated the stuff and could only wonder why people would willingly drink coffee. Now, I'm practically injecting the stuff into my veins._

_Still, the insomnia that I've been having for nearly six months now doesn't really surprise me. After all, guilt is a chilling feeling._

…………………………

45 minutes later, Franco's Diner...

M.J. hadbarely touched his bacon and eggs, choosing instead to take his sweet time eating, even though the food was starting to get cold. Aside from a couple that sat near the doors, M.J. was the only one inside the small restaurant.

_Wanna hear something funny? Well, it's probably not funny to _you_, but when I think about it, sometimes I just can't help but shake my head at how absurd it is that I'm still alive. Well, maybe not _alive,_ but still breathing._

_I wasn't a soldier in Grove Street. I was a driver._

_Yeah, that's right. A driver. Whenever there was an illegal street race or a drive-by that needed to be done, most of the time I was the one who sat behind the wheel. Just before Grove Street fell, I had been its driver for nearly five years. Sure, I wasn't exactly THE best, but I came pretty damn close. And driving while the guy riding shotgun is shooting at someone or getting shot at, or while making a break from the police, takes nerves of steel and even better reflexes. Which is the best explanation I can come up with as to why I haven't gotten myself killed yet._

_Being a driver in a gang, you don't think… you act. Whether you are about to start a race or are just cruising down a street, the situation and everything in it can change in less than a heartbeat. And if you make a mistake, you usually don't get a second chance. It's about having your instincts in control and listening to your guts, allowing you to see what's in front of you and to decide in an instant how to best overcome it when it tries to bite you in the ass. _

_That was what I did six months ago. Before that, the only gun I had ever touched was the one that was given to me on my initiation day, that damn antiqe. But now I have more._

_I learned._

_I adapted._

_I suppose I see the methods of driving and killing as the same thing, but I know there's a difference. A big one, too. For example, there's a difference between driving over a hundred miles per hour through a narrow street while being chased by the police, and charging into a room and killing everyone with a Purple Dragon tattoo on their body. Maybe some people somehow manage to just... go through with it and never look back, like I did with driving, but... I can't. I just can't. I continue to try, to adapt, to just... disconnect myself and yet remain active, but no matter how hard I try it always comes back to me. The memories. They haunt me._

_I don't think its fair, considering what the Dragons have done to people. They shouldn't haunt me like that, damnit! I've been killing scumbags, the lowest human beings humanity has to offer! I should feel... I should feel..._

…_..feel..._

_...who knows, maybe I did die at that warehouse, but just haven't realized it yet._

…………………………

4 hours later...

In one of the many not-so-very clean streets of New York, where the streets were mostly lined with apartment buildings that looked like they belonged in the 60's, one house in particular stood out. While the rest of the rundown buildings in the area had people struggling to survive while unemployed, or burdened with not-so-very profitable jobs, this one had a lot of activity coming from it. Nearly all of the seven story building was covered in spray paintings, with a different style on each level, and on nearly every floor there seemed to be some sort of a party going on. Outside the building some Purple Dragon gangsters had gathered, showing off their cars, playing dice or just sitting on the stairs smoking pot.

Everybody in the neighborhood knew that coming near that place while being a nonmember was a bad idea, so everybody stayed a respectfull/fearfull distance from it.

A couple of blocks away, sitting on a rooftop while spying on the Purple Dragon building with a pair of old binoculars, was M.J.

_Damn, looks like there's nothing important about that place. It's not a crack house, a chop shop or anything that the Dragons use to get money. Looks more like just a place to hang out. It's probably not even one of those recruitment places where the wannabe Dragons come and fight in those rings to become members. Heard there's a new one near one of the east docks, but I ain't got no intention of hitting that kinda place. Nah, I wanna hit the Dragons where it _hurts,_ and that building over there ain't one of 'em. _

M.J. stood up and was about to leave, when a car with its speakers on full volume drove towards the building. Its frame was marred with all kinds of colors and patterns, and while M.J. was no spray artist, he knew a horrible taste when he saw one. And there was also something familiar about the style, if you could call it that.

_Huh, wonder who that is. Probably someone high-up in the gang, since there's no way some average gangster would show himself in that horribly painted car and get laughed at behind his back, without having the power to take care of 'em himself._

The ugly car stopped in front of the building and the gangsters cleared a path between it and the car, confirming that it was definitely someone with straps. A figure stepped out, and when M.J. looked through the binoculars he was too surprised to burst out laughing.

The guy was horribly dressed in pink and looked like a wannabe pimp. He even tried to walk cool, but looked more like he was staggering. He was flanked by two meatheads as he walked up to a gangster and spoke with him, and when the gangster handed something to him, he slapped him hard. Maybe because of a debt the gangster couldn't fully repay, or maybe because the wannabe pimp simply demanded his money and wasn't happy with how much he got. Regardless, his shrieky voice almost carried all the way to where M.J. was, who could only wonder why that girly-man hadn't been shot by his own crew. After all, there wasn't much surprise or reaction from the rest of the Dragons when he slapped the gangster, so it must have been a regular event for them.

The pink-dressed pimp started staggering around the gathered gangsters, probably telling everyone that they should pay him what he wanted or else. But if the clothes hadn't completely ruined the intimidation effect he was trying to have, then his high-pitch voice certainly did.

Although he had watched the whole thing from a distance, up until now he hadn't gotten a good look at the pimp's face. When the man turned in a poorly dramatic move, however, M.J. finally saw his face…

And nearly dropped his binoculars in shock.

_What the..? No way, that can't be him! _

But there was no denying it. He finally remembered where he had seen such horrible spray paintings like the one on that car, and knew that only _he_ could also have a similar taste in clothes.

_It's him... B.B._

M.J. slowly lowered the binoculars away from his stunned face. For a few seconds he didn't move, but then suddenly his face twisted into an expression of total fury.

"That... BASTARD!" He almost tossed the binoculars off the building, but managed to smash them against the roof at the last moment as he cursed for nearly two minutes straight, leaving him straining for breath again. Gathering his wits, he quickly picked up the binoculars, cursing once more when he saw a lens was broken. Looking through the other one, he just barely caught sight of B.B.'s back as he entered the building.

Just three minutes ago M.J. had no intention of going near that place. Now, he was determined to torch the entire building if it meant getting to B.B. But first he needed to acquire some weapons.

"You're dead, you hear me? Dead. An' nothing is gonna stand in my way."

…………………………

…………………………

_25 minutes later..._

"For the last time, NO! I ain't got time for this shit, Casey I gotta do something that just _needs_ to be done! You got it?"

But of course, the knucklehead didn't get it.

"Aw, come on,M.J.! I really could use some help here, y'know. I gotta teach them punks over 'ere in dat arcade a lesson or two dat Casey Jones is da _champ_ in Virtual Hokey 2000!"

"Then what the hell do you need _me_ for?" M.J. replied angrily, while trying to remove Casey's restraining hand from his shoulder.

"Well, the thing with dat game is dat instead of just havin' two players playin', two more can join in an' help out. Y'know, one bein' the goalkeeper an' the other one goin' for da goal and stuff. Da other guy has his pal to back 'im up, an' just as it looks like I gotta win all by myself, I see you walkin' by an' remember once hearin' dat you were also into da arcades! An' it's been over two years since I last saw ya! Imagine dat!"

"Yeah, imagine that. _Look,_ Casey, for one thing, I haven't been into an arcade for over a year now-"

"Aw, 's okay, it'll come back to ya! It's just like ridin' a bike!"

"And second, I got other plans an' time is not on my side!"

"Hey, don't worry 'bout it! Remember, yer talkin' to da _champ_ 'ere! We'll nail those punks before dey can say Golden Puck!" And with that, Casey effortlessly dragged M.J. back towards the arcade, showing no signs that he heard M.J.'s loud protests.

…………………………

3 hours later...

"WOOOOHOOO! YEAH! WE KICKED SOME BUTTS!" Casey shouted at the top of his lungs as he exited the arcade, jumping up onto the nearest bench to continue his hollering. Some distance away from Casey, a very unhappy looking M.J. walked out of the arcade, trying extremely hard to ignore Casey and the victory dance he was doing on the bench.

'_Don't worry, M.J., I'm da _champ_! We'll have dose punks runnin' away before ya know it,' MY ASS! _

"YEAH! I'M CASEY JONES AN' I'M STILL DA CHAMP! REMEMBER DA NAME, BABY!"

M.J. walked away as quickly as he could without getting noticed, while 'da champ' jumped up and down on the bench, which began to look like it would break any minute.

_Yeah, you just stay there and tell everyone how great you are, while I just walk away. And please don't yell-_

"GOONGALAAAA!"

_...you just had to say it, didn't you?_

"Yo, M.J.! Where ya goin! We gotta celebrate!"

_Oh no..._

Casey was quick to catch up with M.J., probably because the people who had just seen him in action kept a healthy distance away from him. Something that M.J. had been trying to do, up until now.

"Hey man, thanks for all yer help! We sure showed dem Whadda ya say we go an' celebrate? My treat!" Casey made a move to grab M.J.'s shoulders again, but M.J. quickened his pace.

"Casey, I _don't_ have time for this. There's something that I _need_ to do, and it's probably too late, no thanks to you."

"Hey! It ain't my fault dat da guys wanted a rematch! An' just so you know I think dat you could have done a lot better! More'n six times dey almost scored 'cause you were too busy lookin' at yo watch!"

"There was a reason why I did that," grumbled M.J., putting as much venom in his words as possible. Casey didn't even blink.

"Ya know, ya shouldn't worry so much 'bout time and hurrin' to places. It ain't good for yer stomach! An' speakin' 'bout health, you look kinda pale an' more skinny then I remember you. Oh! An' how come yer still around? I thought Grove Street didn't exist no more."

"Casey, someone's trying to steal your bike," replied M.J. without even looking.

"WHAT?" Casey turned around and ran towards wherever he had parked his bike. Upon seeing it safe and sound, he turned back where M.J. had been heading, only to find that he had disappeared into the crowds.

"Hey, ain't no one tryin' to steal my bike, man! M.J.? Where you at!" But no response came and Casey was left alone, rubbing his head in confusion.

"Wassit sumthin' I said?"

…………………………

_Casey fucking Jones._

_Haven't seen him for over two years, up until now. And even then I barely knew him. At best we chatted now and then, but it seems like he's the type that, after just talking to someone for a few hours, will pretend like they're best buds. Even heard he invites himself into people's homes and has a hard time taking a hint when to leave. In fact, he has trouble taking any kind of hint. _

_I suppose the only reason I still remember him is the same one that everyone else who was at that street race two and a half years ago has. It was a race meant for cars only, as usual, but Casey suddenly arrived with his bike and wanted to race. Just about everyone told him no, so he decided to prove that bikes were just as good as cars, if not better._

_After his little demonstration, everyone who was going to race, along with some innocent bystanders, ended up chasing him with crowbars and iron pipes._

_Please don't ask._

…………………………

…………………………

The time was almost 20:00PM when M.J. finally returned to the street where the Purple Dragon building was. To his immense relief, the ugly car was still in front of the building and loud music still emanated from the house itself. And since it wasn't there to make money for the Purple Dragons, it meant only one thing:

_They're having a party. Perfect._

Wearing a used leather jacket M.J. had bought from someone who needed cash a few weeks back, if only to look tough, he slowly edged closer towards the house, holding the binoculars in one hand and a purple marker in the other. Hiding behind a truck, he slowly peeked at the entrance. The big doors were open with guards flanked on either side, but anyone who walked in or out of the building made no hand signals or anything like they usually did. Which made things a little more difficult.

_Damn, this place is for Purple Dragons only. Won't matter if you know the hand signal; if you're not wearing the mark, you won't get in._

M.J. knew it was a long shot --as long as it could get--, but M.J. turned to the truck's mirror and slowly started drawing on his face with the purple marker he had remembered to take from his apartment.

10 Minutes later...

_Ah hell, looks more like a tentacle than a dragon's tail._

M.J. glared at his 'handy-work'. What was supposed to be a Purple Dragon tail that started just below his right eye and traveled down to his neck, did not look very convincing up close. It was, at best, sloppy.

_But I can't back down now, damnit. B.B. is just around the corner, that asshole, and he's gonna get it even if I have to shoot everyone who gets in my way._

Concealed under the leather jacket was the SMG he had bought the other day, including all three clips and his 9mm. But even if he had brought ten clips with him, it looked like it wouldn't be enough for even half the people that were already inside the building.

M.J.'s thoughts on how to get in were interrupted when a voice spoke behind him, "Hey, bro, got a light?"

Turning around, he saw a Purple Dragon gangster dressed in black leather, the tattooed head of a dragon on his right cheek. Obviously high, he held out a joint towards M.J. with a stupid grin on his face.

A few seconds later, M.J. returned with a fake grin that wouldn't have fooled a five-year-old child.

"Sure do, bro."

…………………………

…………………………

Both of the guards checked their watches almost simultaneously. More than an hour left until the next guard shift. One of them noticed Stone coming back, high as usual, and he seemed to have found someone he knew, for the new guy told something to Stone and he burst out laughing. This wasn't exactly surprising, since when Stone was stoned he thought a picture of William Shatner on a coffee cup was hilarious.

Stone sat on the stairs with the newcomer beside him, probably exchanging stories or something. The guard noticed a purple line on the right side of his face that looked to be a familiar dragon's tail. Immediately losing interest, his attention was drawn away when he noticed more people heading towards the building.

…………………………

"-an' then he said in that damn girly voice; _don't you talk to me like that, foo'! I'm gangsta! I got straps! Boys, kick his ass!_" Stone burst into his fourth bout laughter since he started talking to the fellow Purple Dragon he'd just met. His tatt looked really cool. Needed to remember to ask him where he'd gotten it.

"Sounds like this B.B. dude is a total wimp."

"Oh, dude, you don't know the half of it! He talks big an' all, but when it comes to shovin' he, like, hides behind his nearest bodyguard. An' ever since he was given this place to run last year, he hasn't, like, done a goddamn thing except lock himself up in his office, suck base up his nose and hold parties like this one. Will be 8 months next week since the last time we, like, sent any kind of profit to Hun. An' believe me, it's only matter of time before that giant pays little ol' B.B. a visit. The sooner the better, I say! That damn idjit B.B. knows he's comin' any day, but does he actually try to get some dough? Hell no! Instead he takes it from us!" Now feeling pissed, Stone took a deep drag from his joint, and could feel his nerves calm down as he blew the smoke out. His head tilting slightly with a stupid grin on his face, his eyes slid half shut as he leaned against the stairs.

"So...Stone, sounds like you know what's goin' on at the top. You know someone high up or sumthin'?" For a few moments Stone looked like he didn't hear his new _buddy,_ but after couple of seconds he blinked and looked at him, his grin widening even further.

"Hehehehe, you could say that," he replied, and then reached into his right pocket and pulled out a small round amulet with the Purple Dragon insignia on it. "Here's my source, right 'ere."

The other gangster blinked, lips slightly parted.

"No way..."

"Yup! I'm one of 'ose potentials, the ones who got a shot at rising up. 'Course, if I had known I'd end up babysittin' that piece of shit, I'd told 'em to shove it," polishing the amulet with his dirty sleeve, he placed it back in the jacket's pocket, before taking another drag of his joint and leaning back. The two gangsters sat in silence for a while, until the other one eyed the joint.

"Y'know, that stuff will kill ya one day."

Stone woke up with a start at hearing that, looking hurt. "Whaaa? You too, buddy! Yo gonna lecture me 'bout what I do? Aw man, that's totally unfair! Hell, you probably never even had one!"

The gangster blinked, slightly turning his head away from Stone. "...well..."

"Well then, that won't do, now will it! Here, have one, it's on me! I insist," said Stone. He handed the joint to the gangster, who looked at it for a moment and then shrugged, accepting it and taking a puff. Almost immediately he started coughing uncontrollably while Stone laughed his ass off.

"AAHAHAHAHAAAA! Oh man, don't tell me that was yer first one, foo'! Hahahahaaa!" The coughing gangster made a move to stand up, but tripped and slumped against Stone, who laughed even harder and didn't notice as a hand reached into his jacket and pulled something out of it.

The gangster managed to stand up this time and made a run towards the entrance doors, half retching as Stone yelled after him, laughing so hard tears were running out of his eyes, "Hey, guys! We gotta ourselves a newbie here!"

One guard chuckled while the other simply shook his head, as the coughing gangster ran inside the building.

…………………………

_15 minutes later..._

In a toilet room that had every square inch of the walls covered in graffiti, M.J. bent over the dirty sink and splashed cold water into his face. Now breathing normally, he looked up into what was left of the mirror, noticing that his eyes were still slightly bloodshot.

_Jesus, and some people almost do this for a living._

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out Stone's amulet and looked at it, an expression of slight disbelief on his face.

_I'd hoped I could mingle with the guy and maybe just walk inside with him, but...Jesus, I sure as hell didn't see this one coming. With this, and if that stoned asshole wasn't exaggerating, then whatever guards that bastard B.B. has will practically give me a gun to kill him._

_B.B. tended to have that effect on people back in the day, and it looks like he hasn't changed much. B.B.'s gonna get what's coming to him._


	3. Chapter 3

AUTHOR: Well, I sure hope that people are excited by this update. Special thanks to Dierdre for beta-ing it. And please feel free to review. In fact, I encourage it!

WARNING: This chapter has violence and swearing. You have been warned.

……………………………………

……………………………………

……………………………………

What once used to be an office building had been drastically changed after the Purple Dragons moved in. Probably even more after the newest management had taken over. On almost every floor there was loud music and party lights that flashed in different colors each second, although on most floors there were surprisingly few Purple Dragons actually partying. On almost every floor at least three groups gathered, either talking in hushed tones or arguing, all looking not too happy and agitated, as if waiting for something that no one knew when would come.

The party lights helped M.J. hide the clumsy drawing on his face as he walked up the stairs, making sure his right side was to the wall. When he reached the seventh floor, he was met with a hallway, and stationed at the end were five guards that were clearly supposed to be guarding the double doors, but instead were playing cards or reading comic books.

When M.J. walked closer, one of them noticed him and stood up. "The boss ain't seein' anyone. Piss off."

The rest of the guards had now all noticed M.J., and he quickly became the center of attention. Unfazed, M.J. reached into his pocket in a non-threatening move and pulled out Stone's amulet.

_The moment of truth..._

"Hun sent me."

The guards' eyes widened in surprise as the rest whispered to each other in hushed tones. Recovering from his initial surprise, the guard chuckled humorlessly. "'bout time you guys took care of that clown. That shit-for-brains has been suckin' up our own stuff from the moment he got 'ere. Why da hell did you wait so long to do this?"

M.J. didn't reply immediately, but instead walked passed the guard and towards the double doors.

"This place isn't exactly one of our most important assets," M.J. finally said as he placed his hand on the doorknob. He then turned back slightly to the guards, his right cheek facing the door. "Don't start yelling about what is gonna happen here. At least, not until it's done."

And with that, M.J. opened the door and walked in. When it closed, the guard took a deep breath and looked at his buddies. "Boys, if that dude's eyes aren't those of a coldhearted killer, then I don't know whose are."

……………………………………

……………………………………

_Flashy._

_That's about the only word that can describe B.B.'s taste in furniture. And flashy doesn't necessarily mean good. It sure as hell doesn't now._

What might have at one point been the building's main offices, had now been totally converted by… someone who had no taste at all. Nearly every wall had a different bright color with patterns that hurt the eye if you looked at them for too long, along with expensive-looking wooden floors and furniture that would have made a relic from the 80's say 'groovy'.

The entire freaking floor had B.B. written all over it.

_Huh, guess that's where all the money went, instead of into Hun's pockets. I'm also beginning to wonder why someone hasn't come and killed that jerk yet._

Pop music suddenly started playing somewhere on the other side of the room, behind the half-closed doors.

_But better late then never, I suppose._

……………………………………

Not to M.J.'s surprise, what was behind the doors bore a mocking resemblance to an office. A big window was inset on the left wall, an old filing cabinet to M.J.'s right, as well as an old-fashioned money safe that had been left open, revealing a shotgun, a handful of money, two coke-bags, several empty ones and a small white trail that ended at a desk. And sitting behind that ugly desk was B.B., about to do the same thing he had been doing when M.J. first met him all those years ago. He even said the same thing when M.J. knocked on the open door.

"Buzz off, I'm busy!" And with that, B.B. shoved the straw into his nose and sucked hard on the coke that had been lined up on the round mirror atop his desk. After doing that, he leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath and smiling hugely as a slight line of drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He still didn't notice as M.J. walked into the room.

"You just never learned to lay off the blow, B.B. Is that's why you did it? For that coke shit?"

B.B. blinked stupidly as the voice registered to him, his groggy eyes trying to focus on M.J.

"...wha..? Who..." B.B. blinked again, and when he saw who had spoken he seemed to sober up in record time. "Wha... M.J.? The hell you doin' 'ere?"

But M.J. said nothing in reply, simply looking at B.B. as his knuckles turned white when his fists clenched tighter. B.B. licked his lips nervously as his nose started leaking a sluggish line of snot, "Umm... y-yer not still angry 'bout wha I did with yer alligator pet, are ya?"

Having that old memory dragged to the surface was about the last thing M.J. needed. With a snarl he jumped atop the desk and kicked B.B. in the stomach, causing him to fall to the floor coughing and gasping for breath as his fake teeth fell out of his mouth. His original ones had gotten smashed to pieces when M.J. found out what B.B. had done to his pal.

"Leatherhead was a _crocodile,_ you dumbass!" Yelled M.J. as he jumped back on the floor. B.B., still too busy gasping for breath and reaching for his teeth, didn't look like he had heard him.

"Why the hell did you do it, huh? Why the hell did you sell us out? Is that's what B.B. stands for? _Backstabbing Bastard_?"

Placing his teeth back in his mouth, B.B. turned his angry eyes at M.J., the coke still in his system giving him some small courage. "Yeah! That's what I did! I sold yo all piece of shits 'cause you all deserved it! Ya all treated me like nothin', never gave me goddamn chance to have my star rise, an' now look at me! I'm someone high up! I'm a Lou Tenant!"

"It's pronounced Lieutenant, you doped-up little shit face! An' thanks to you sellin' us out we lost half our numbers in a week! WE GOT SLAUGHTERED! GROVE STREET IS GONE THANKS TO YOU!" The barely kept rage started to reach the surface, as M.J. remembered the chaos that ensued when the Purple Dragons slipped through the backdoor and into Grove Street areas; a door opened by a crack-head. As M.J. yelled in anger, B.B. unsteadily got to his feet, what little courage he had just seconds ago all but gone as he leaned against the money safe, keeping as much distance from M.J. as possible and sweating like a pig.

"S-s-s-s-o? Grove Street was nuthin', a joke! A relic from the past! It was weak 'cause the head family refused to keep up with the times, to find other ways to get some cash an' not always get it from some lousy street races an' robberies! They didn't even allow us to take protection money from people! While everybody else **was **sellin' an' makin' some dough and buyin' some hardcore guns an' takin' streets, we still stuck to some lousy pee-shooters an' did nothin'! Grove should have gotten wiped out ages ago! I saw a chance for me an' I took it, an' NOW look at me! I got power! I got money! I got babes an' ain't no-one tries to steal from me or give me shit! NOBODY! An' especially not some white boy who shoulda died with the Grove! You're probably only alive 'cause you ran away like a chicken shit!"

The slightly calmer part of M.J.'s enraged mind told him to ignore the last remark, as he narrowed his eyes and hissed through clenched teeth, "Bullshit. You're still the same no-good dope head you've been all your miserable fuckin' life. You were given more chances then you could ever deserve, yet for some unexplainable reason you always fucked up big time an' just whined about it bein' someone else's fault. Hell, you couldn't learn how to drive at all. Remember? We even once said we placed a bag of coke on the other side of the street, an' you weren't even halfway there before you crashed into the only tree in the entire block! Even havin' the gang tattoo was too much, you miserable little-"

B.B. made a clumsy turn as he reached into the money safe for the shotgun, but M.J. was faster. Kicking at the safe's door, it slammed right into B.B.'s arm, and the sounds of bones breaking could be heard, although it was replaced a second later by screaming as B.B. fell to the floor.

M.J. watched as the traitor wailed for his guards to come, slowly crawling towards the door. When B.B. was halfway there, M.J. walked up to him and kicked him in the side hard enough to flip his body around, revealing a face wet with sweat and tears. By the looks of things, he had also wet himself.

"You still haven't changed at all, B.B. You're still a fuckup, a whiner and totally incapable of handling anything," M.J. then reached into his pocket and pulled out Stone's medallion. "Even your own crew wants you dead, an' for once in my life I'm gonna agree with the Dragons."

……………………………………

……………………………………

Stone took a whiff of a newly lit joint, sat against the stairs outside and got totally relaxed. He had almost fallen asleep when the sounds of glass breaking came from overhead, along with a very familiar shrill scream wailing as it got closer.

B.B.'s corpse landed on the hood of his own car, smashing every window in the process. Nearly everyone who was outside screamed in surprise, as Stone blinked repeatedly at the body of his former boss.

"...dude."

……………………………………

When M.J. walked out of the building a large crowd had gathered around B.B.'s landing site, although no one seemed to want to get very close. Some nodded approvingly, while others appeared to be in shock. Walking through the gathered gangsters and up to the car, M.J. placed the shotgun he had taken on the hood and grabbed B.B.'s pink shirt, ripping it open without any hesitation. A tattoo was etched in the same spot across his chest as M.J.'s, except thatthis one had only one word. **Grove.** B.B. couldn't handle the pain when he was supposed to get it all, and had to settle for that one word.

Reaching into his pocket, M.J. pulled out an old pocket knife and carved an X across the tattoo. The crowd around him gasped as he then raised the knife and plunged it into the center of the dead man's chest, right where B.B.'s heart was.

M.J.'s face held no expression whatsoever as he placed the dragon medallion on the hood, grabbed the shotgun and walked away, the crowd dispersing before him as he walked into the night.

……………………………………

15 minutes later, M.J. was back on the same rooftop he had been on hours ago, holding the broken binoculars in his hands and gazing at the apartment building. There was still a crowd, and no one had yet touched the body.

_Before the Purple Dragons even attacked us Groves, we knew we didn't have a chance._

_The Purple Dragons aren't just a run-of-the-mill gang. They are too organized, and when they first appeared in New York, the speed in which they worked as they started taking over was just so... totally unexpected. They worked fast, and lots of young people practically fell in love with them because of how good they were at destroying one opposition after another. They also just loved those dragon tattoos._

_And when it was Grove's turn, well... everybody knew the score. Us the most. But everybody was also damn determined to make the Dragons pay dearly for every street they took, and to make sure everybody would remember the Grove Street gang. We had the spirit, the numbers and... that was about it. But we all were gonna fight._

_Well, everybody except for..._

_We figured we could hold out for maybe two or three months, but then B.B., that prick, sold us out. He gave the Dragons names and places, opening a backdoor that the Dragons used to the fullest. The first night was the worst, 'cause most of the hits happened at people's homes. Our own were practically killed in their own beds, but the Dragons didn't stop there. They continued without mercy, driving the dagger that B.B. had placed for them further into our backs. An' just as we figured out what was happening and who had betrayed us, the Dragons attacked us from the front._

_Grove Street, a gang that had existed for nearly 30 years, ended in about a month._

_As far as I know, I'm the only one left. All because I... because I..._

……………………………………

The sounds of a truck driving up the street snapped M.J. back to reality. The truck was big and black, with a huge purple dragon painted on each side. It stopped in front of the building, and there suddenly seemed to be a certain... tension among the crowd.

_Hmm, I knew that killing someone high up would catch some attention, but not this soon. Must have been in the neighborhood when whoever it is heard about B.B.'s death. Who knows, maybe I'll get two lieutenants in one night. Wouldn't that be something..._

Even without looking through the binoculars, M.J. saw that the figure walking out of the truck was big. Very big. And when he did look, he nearly dropped the binoculars for the second time that night.

The giant figure was dressed all in black, although his hugely muscled arms were exposed, showing a big purple dragon on his left arm. His blond hair was tied into a ponytail, revealing three red scars across his left cheek.

_HOLY… that's... that's him! I don't fucking believe it! Hun! The freaking leader of the Purple Dragons! What the hell is he doing here!_

Hun moved slowly towards B.B.'s car, walking like someone not in the least good mood. Then again, maybe he always walked like that. Regardless, he strode up to B.B.'s dead body and gazed down upon M.J.'s handiwork. The frown on his face got deeper as he picked up the medallion and slowly turned to the crowd, saying something.

_Oh man, there's no way this is just some damn coincidence. That bastard was either just cruising by or was heading right here. But if that's the case, then why... Aw, man, he was probably coming here to finally take care of B.B., to make an example of him to all those who paid him late or something. And even though that dump is some backwater place and not really important, not even Hun could ignore the lack of money coming from it for very long._

_Man, he sure looks pissed for some reason. _

_...There's no fucking way I'm gonna miss this chance. The moment I started this damn crusade I knew I was gonna end up dead, but if I manage to get that son of a bitch… Tagging the only known leader of the Purple Dragons? Man, my dead homiez will love it; they might even... forgive me._

There was a certain acceptance in M.J.'s expression as he lowered his binoculars and picked up the shotgun.

But as he turned, a figure came flying out of nowhere and kicked him right in the chest, sending him sprawling across the rooftop. M.J. rolled violently until friction ground him to a halt, and he found himself gasping for air as his blurry vision slowly re-focused itself again.

"(**cough**) Oh, man... what the (**coughcough**)..." M.J. continued coughing as he raised himself on his knees.

A figure was suddenly standing in front of him as if it had appeared out of the shadows, its arms folded across its chest in a very cocky way. "So, yer da one who's been doin' all the killin' the past few months. I gotta say, I expected ya to be taller."

M.J. couldn't make out much of his attacker, only that he sounded male, was on the shorter side and seemed to be wearing some sort of a backpack on his back. Two long daggers were on his belt, and a weird red-looking bandana was tied around his bald head, hiding his eyes behind a white slit. He seemed to be wearing some kind of tight, dark green clothes.

"But after seein' yer eyes," the figure continued, as if unaware of his scrutiny. "I can see yer the one alright."

_Who the..?_

M.J. got to his feet as fast as he could and drew back his right arm to throw a punch, but the figure suddenly became a blur and kneed him in the stomach. M.J. bent over abruptly, his breath knocked out of him again as an elbow came out of nowhere and hit him in the face. M.J. could feel warm blood spray out of his nose, before a kick to the back sent him to the ground once more.

M.J. felt something metal press hard against his ribs and suddenly remembered the SMG he had on him. Getting back up again as fast as he could, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the automatic. Turning swiftly towards where he thought the attacker was, all he saw was an old wooden bird cage of some kind.

A spark of light appeared to M.J.'s right and he spun around, raising the rifle. The moon's glow had reflected off the two daggers the attacker was now holding in his hands as he began to advance. The attacker raised his hands to strike, and without thinking M.J. raised the SMG up to block the daggers. Whatever the blades were made of, they were sharp, for they penetrated the SMG right before the attacker yanked his hands in separate directions, ripping the automatic into two pieces. M.J. blinked dumbly at the pieces he was now holding, but a split second later his feet were kicked out from under him so hard that for a moment he saw the world upside down.

A sharp pain erupted in his side as he suddenly went flying, straight through the wooden shack and skidding across the rooftop until he hit the wall that separated the roof from a long fall. Opening his eyes in pain, he spotted several broken wood planks from the bird shack near him. Lying amongst them was a familiar length of metal, probably the shotgun.

He went to reach for it, when a foot came out of nowhere and nearly broke his arm by slamming it to the ground. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from screaming, M.J. was about to turn and look at the attacker that was now standing over him, but the moon's glow brightened things a bit more and made M.J. see something that he hadn't noticed before.

The foot was not dressed in some dark green pants; the foot _was _dark green, and it only had two toes. He slowly traced the muscled foot to its owner as the moon's glow illuminated the attacker, who had a cocky grin on his face. A dark green face that didn't seem to have a nose.

Probably because it wasn't human.

"W-wh-what the _fuck?_" M.J. stuttered, not believing his own eyes.

The thing's grin only widened. "Yeah, I kinda have dat effect on people. But I ain't here to amuse you, just to ask ya why ya been goin' around an' killin' all dose Dragons. Sure, I probably hate 'em more den you, but dese days most of 'em ain't nothin' but a bunch of kids. What are ya gonna do when you aim a gun at some kid? Just kill 'im an' move on?"

M.J. couldn't help but blink at hearing what sounded like a lecture, but once the thing's words sank in his anger made him ignore that he wasn't talking to a human being. "Hey! The Dragons have killed their share of kids, you know! I know 'cause I've seen it with my own eyes, damnit!"

"An' dat guy you just tossed through da window? Did he deserve dat?"

"That little _shit_ deserved a heck of a lot more pain then I managed to give him. An' yet he was nothing compared to other Dragons that are running around in this city right now," M.J. hissed, somehow not liking having someone question him about what he had been doing.

"Oh yeah? Who are you to decide who gets ta live an' who doesn't?" The thing's smirk turned into a snarl as he spoke, and M.J. suddenly realized that he was dealing with a hothead. And pissing off hotheads was always easy.

"HEY! Just who the hell do you think you are? Kermit's evil brother or sumthin'!"

"Kermit?" the thing's eyes blinked in surprise, "...who..?" And then the words dawned on it and an angry snarl appeared. When it bent down closer to M.J., its long daggers shone in the moon glow again, and M.J. feared for a moment his words might have been too much. "I'm a _TURTLE!_ C'mon, say it with me: turtle! T-U-R-"

But it didn't get any farther in showing it knew how to spell. In its anger it had probably forgotten that M.J.'s right foot was between its legs, which he quickly kicked up as hard as he could and hoped that it had balls on the same place as a human. Judging by the high-pitched squealing, it did.

It staggered backwards, its foot slipping off M.J.'s arm. He quickly reached towards the wooden pile, but instead of feeling the familiar metal, all he managed to grab was a wooden plank.

_No time, gotta act now!_

Raising himself up, he swung the plank towards the thing. It was struck across the head, and the blow must have caught it by surprise, for the force made it stumble right over the wall. A surprised yell was heard just moments before a loud crash echoed from the alley below.

M.J. dropped the wood and breathed heavily, still somewhat traumatized by the thing attacking and seeing it standing over him.

_Gotta... gotta calm down and... and... see if it survived._

……………………………………

Calming down his nerves, finding the shotgun and then climbing down the stairs took nearly 20 minutes. When M.J. stepped into the alley, he half expected to the thing lying dead on the street, but instead saw where it had landed.

_An open dumpster. Great._

Some garbage was scattered along the street, leading deeper into the alley like a trail. Walking slowly and ignoring the voice in his head telling him how stupid he was, M.J. reached the alley's end and the trash trail, which ended in a half-closed manhole. A bit of red liquid decorated around the edges; probably the thing's blood.

"That can't be good."

……………………………………

Author: Just so you know it, I got nothing against Raph, it's just that I thought him to be the best choise in beeing the first one bumping into M.J., that's all. Sorry if I offended any Raph fans.


	4. Chapter 4

Author: Special thanks to Dierdre who beta this chapter. And thanks to people who are still reading Redemption. Hope that this chapter will be to your liking. Reviewing is encouraged.

**WARNING: **This chapter has swearing and is dark, to say the least.

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……………...

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**_The darkness in the long, narrow alleyway was so overwhelming, it moved like it was alive. Long arms melted out of the shadows and reached for him, trying to pull him in, but he kept running. Faces formed in the walls, a mixture of former friends and enemies, all twisted in anger and hatred. Even through their graves their hatred reached him._**

**_Behind him was an all-too-familiar demonic roar and the sounds of something large and heavy chasing him. He dared not look back, fearing that he would see those demonic yellow eyes. The path ahead became twisted, branching into a hundred different possibilities, each offering an exit, each a hundred times worse than the next. _**

**_It didn't matter which one he would take. In a nightmare, every decision made is the wrong one. _**

**_Picking one at random, he ran down the alley. The sky above held no sun, no clouds, just... nothingness._**

**_The path became smaller and smaller, the walls moving closer. Arms suddenly sprung from them and grabbed him, starting to pull him in several directions. He felt a cry of pain explode from his mouth as the arms slowly twisted him. Up head, a creature literally melted out of the shadows as if it were stepping out of water. Its body was all deformed, with huge muscles almost ripping through its dark green skin. Its eyes were glowing white, and red skin was wrapped around its head. The thing's face twisted into a wide grin._**

"**_...rrrreeeeeaaaddddyyy tooo... dddiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee?" It asked mockingly. The grin widened further as it pulled out two daggers, the blades wider than its arms and all twisted, dripping with blood._**

_**Behind him, he could feel the demon's hot breath on the back of his neck as the thing in front of him came closer, raising its daggers and-**_

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

"_Yo, M.J.! Open up! Now!"_

M.J. woke up sprawled across his old couch, pale as a sheet with cold sweat all over his body. He breathed fast as he felt his heart pound behind his ribs, hands gripping the shotgun in his lap with his finger dangerously tight on the trigger.

BAM!

BAM!

"_M.J. I know yer in dere! Open up now!"_

_W-wha..? Who the..?_

"Piss off! I'm busy!" M.J. finally yelled. He shakily sat up on the couch and eased his grip on the trigger, but with the barrel still aimed at the door.

"_It's me! Casey! C'mon, man! I know yer in dere!"_

"Wha-Casey? The hell you doin' here?"

"_Open up! I gotta talk to ya!"_

Casey Jones pounded on the door again, this time causing small cracks to form on the old wood. M.J. quickly realized that Casey wasn't planning on leaving and that the door wouldn't hold out for much longer.

"Alright, alright, alright! The floor next to the door on the right is loose and there's a key beneath it!" M.J. angrily hid the shotgun under the couch, as the loud sound of wood breaking came from the door.

"_Oy! There ain't no key 'ere!"_

"The _other_ right!" M.J. shouted angrily as he got up, still feeling a bit sore from the beating he'd received from that... thing.

"_Oh yeah, here it is."_

M.J. walked towards the fridge and grabbed a beer as the doors unlocked. Casey stormed in, although when he saw M.J.'s apartment he stopped dead in his tracks, wide eyes blinking as he took it all in.

"...whoa, dis dump is worse den my place!"

"Why thank you," M.J. replied sarcastically as he opened the beer and took a sip. Casey's attention went from the ugly apartment and focused on M.J.

"It's you, ain't it."

M.J. blinked, although it was because he had just woken up and not from actual surprise. "Me what?"

"You know what I mean! Da one dat killed dat Purple Dragon big shot last week, da one who's been killin 'em all dis year! Yer da one!"

"So?"

_Casey must have expected me to deny it or try to argue with him, for he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Eventually he just left his mouth hanging open and simply stared at me._

"Yer...yer not even gonna deny it?"

"Why should I? It's the truth," M.J. replied coolly, taking another sip of his beer.

"But... is it... is it only you? I mean, no ones knows if it's been a group o' people or just couple of guys, but... is it only you who's been doin' it? An' no one else?"

"As far as I know, yeah. Wanna beer?" M.J. asked. He opened his refrigerator again and pulled out another beer, but decided at the last moment not to toss it at Casey, since he still looked too stunned to notice.

"But... why? Most of 'em dese days ain't nuthin' but kids."

"If you'd seen what I've seen kids do, Casey, you'd lose your faith in humanity. And before you ask, no, I haven't shot a kid. So far I've been lucky." Even as M.J. said it, however, he knew he should have chosen a better word.

"Lucky? _LUCKY? _You call shootin' people an' gettin' away with it lucky! I ain't even gonna ask ya how many ye have killed, but-"

"I stopped counting when I reached twenty."

_I lied. Counting B.B., my number has reached forty-two. But he doesn't need to know that._

"I, that is, I ah... uh..." Casey stumbled as he tried to remember whatever it was he had been planning to say. Finally, he shook his head in anger and started over. "Damnit, M.J., dere are other ways to do dis! Who's saying you gotta kill 'em? Can't you just, like, wound 'em or sumthin' an' call the police?"

"What, like the Vigilante?"

Casey's reaction was... odd. At first he froze, his eyes slightly wide, and then he tried to say something, but most of what came out of his mouth was, "Uh, well... that is uh... umm... ah... l-like the, ah... umm... yes! Just like da Vigilante! I-I mean, not dat I know much 'bout da way he thinks or anythin' or even know 'im for dat matter, but ah... well..."

M.J. raised an eyebrow. The show Casey was putting on was something he had never seen him do, which said something about the man's agitation. "Why the hell are you getting so worked up about it? It's not like gangbanging is something new in the streets of New York."

"It's entirely different when ya know who's doin' the killin', M.J.," replied Casey, looking more serious then M.J. had ever seen him.

"Well, what the hell do you expect? I'm a gangster. And gangs aren't exactly known for being some damn social clubs," M.J. said, feeling irritated. He turned his back on Casey and looked through the kitchen window.

"But dat's just it! You ain't no killer! I know 'cause I also grew up on the streets. I've seen some of da worst people, an' you ain't one of 'em, not by a long shot! Hell, I once heard ya saw a kid get shot an' nearly had a breakdown!"

At hearing those words, M.J.'s breath left his lungs and his grip on the beer bottle loosened, causing it to shatter on the floor. The noise didn't register to him, however. A memory M.J. had spent years trying to bury and forget had been dragged back to the surface.

"you bastard..." M.J. hissed, battling hard not to give in to the tears that were building up in his eyes.

"See what I mean? Ya were never meant to be in some gang an' hurt an' kill people, an' now look at ya! Nuthin' but skin an' bones an' ye look like ye ain't slept in weeks! What ya've been doin' just ain't worth it! But more importantly, they don't deserve it!"

A couple of seconds passed until M.J. spoke, his voice deadly calm.

"And here I thought you'd praise me on a job well done," he then slowly turned and faced Casey, his face twisted into a sneer, "considering they burned down your father's shop with him still in it."

A shocked expression transformed Casey's face, partly out of the memory that he had also tried to bury and partly because he never expected M.J. to say that. His shocked expression quickly changed into anger, however.

"Why you..!" Casey snarled and half charged towards M.J., pulling his right hand back for a punch. M.J. narrowed his eyes slightly and braced himself.

Then everything slowed down. Literally.

Casey's charge suddenly didn't seem to follow actual time, and his yell of fury slowed down like in some action movie, becoming deep.

_That's not supposed to happen,_ a part of M.J. thought as Casey's fist slowly came closer, until he moved to dodge the blow. He also felt himself move slowly, and yet he was faster than Casey. He dodged the blow and his hand traveled to Casey's throat, where it struck his Adam's apple.

The moment it did, everything seemed to return back to normal time.

Casey fell on the floor, coughing and gasping for air, while M.J. breathed heavily, his mind racing in an attempt to figure out what had just happened.

And then the pain came.

It felt like his brain was a dish and someone was running a fork over it, creating an almost electric feeling of pain inside his skull. The pain so immense he swore he could hear it, M.J. grabbed his head. Warm blood flowed from his nose, and when he opened his eyes everything was blurry and he could barely see two Caseys sprawled on the floor. He tried to walk, but stumbled, and the last thing he saw before blacking out was the incoming floor.

………………

………………

While in the middle of an experiment, one of the computers suddenly started beeping. Looking away from his microscope, the large figure saw data filling one of the computer screens. Blinking in slight puzzlement, he walked closer to the screen… until he saw what kind of data was incoming.

His eyes widening in shock, he breathed, "Oh, no..."

With shaking hands, he carefully typed in a few cryptic commands. The screen changed, showing a human brain with several small red spots appearing in specific areas.

"No, what... what have I done to you?" He whispered, burying his head in his hands.

………………

………………

M.J. felt like shit, and he hadn't even opened his eyes yet.

But when he eventually forced them open, he wished he had kept them closed. He was lying on the living room sofa, and even though there wasn't much light in the room, it pierced into his eyes like hot needles. Groaning sharply, he weakly moved his hand up to cover his eyes.

"An' here I was thinkin' about callin' the hospital or sumthin'."

Slowly lifting the hand away, M.J. saw Casey sitting in one of the chairs, facing the flickering TV screen and holding a beer in his hand.

"So... how ya feelin'?"

"...like shit..."

"Heh, yeah, no kiddin'. For a moment dere I thought ye were havin' one of 'em strokes or seizures. You know, the ones that make ye foam at da mouth and wet yer pants."

For a moment M.J. didn't say anything, until Casey's words sank in. He moved his hand away fast and rose up to check his pants, half expecting to see what he didn't want to see.

"Made ye look," Casey said teasingly, taking a sip of his brew.

M.J. grumbled something incoherent and slumped back onto the sofa. An uncomfortable silence lingered, the only sounds coming from the TV when it showed something other than static. From the sounds of things, Casey was watching some cartoon show.

M.J. tried to fight it, to toughen up like he had been doing all these months, but... it was just something that he needed to say, something that had been weighing on him for a long time. And with Casey reminding him of it once more, he was quickly losing the battle for control. And who knew, maybe that... that… pain in his head a moment ago was a... a sign. A sign he didn't have much time.

"I was fourteen when it happened."

There. It had started. Now the rest _needed_ to be said.

"Hmm? When what happened?"

"When... when I saw that kid get shot."

Casey blinked in surprise, the beer bottle half way to his mouth, "...oh."

"I... I had only been in the gang about a month. I...we, that is, me and some other guys from the Grove, went to this place one night. It was one of those rare neutral events, where it was best to leave your gang colors at home before showing up, if you only wanted to have fun without risking violence from a rival gang or something. God, there were so many people there. White. Black. Spanish. But no one seemed to notice that, or care. In one place there were some guys on bikes and skateboards who were showing off; in another there was a car show. Hell, I even think someone brought a grill with him and was barbequing for people. In exchange for money, of course.

"And then... I can't recall how long I had been there, but... right there in front of me, this weird guy started arguing with another kid, who looked like he was only a year or so older than me. I remember how I thought the guy was acting weird; his face was all sweaty and he was constantly rubbing at his neck and twitching. I couldn't exactly make out the words, but I could tell the guy wanted something from the kid, and the kid didn't want to give it to him. Then the kid said something about the other guy's sister and... he... pulled out a gun and just shot the kid."

Casey's eyes widened in shock, and he nearly dropped the beer. With M.J. lying on the sofa, looking up with his hand resting over his eyes, he couldn't see what kind of expression M.J. had. But his voice had been steady, perhaps wavering once or twice, but steady.

"And then... then there was chaos all around. I got pushed forward and the kid grabbed me as he fell down, almost dragging me down with him. There was... so much blood and the kid's eyes were so… fearful. He tried to breathe, but it sounded like the bullet had pierced one of his lungs. I didn't have a cell phone on me and neither did the kid, and everybody else was too busy running away to make a call to the hospital. I tried to stand up, but the kid wouldn't let me go and... I saw that...he didn't want to be... left alone. I... I don't know how long we just sat there, but... eventually he stopped trying to breathe. I just stayed there until the sounds of sirens snapped me back to my senses. After that I just…left."

M.J. took a deep breath, while Casey opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"The thing is... I remember the look in the kid's eyes. At first, he was so terrified and then... it's like he realized _this is it. You're not going to live any longer._ And when he died, he looked so... goddamned disappointed. And I never even found out what his name was."

"Why... why did that guy shoot him?" Asked Casey, failing to keep his voice steady as his eyes turned watery.

"Found out later that the kid was selling drugs. The guy was one of his regulars, but didn't have money on him that night. He was caught the next day and sentenced to prison. Twenty to life. A month later I heard the guy got stabbed in his sleep. I guess child-killers aren't liked much in prison."

M.J.'s tale finally completed, the next fifteen minutes were spent in silence. As it got darker outside, it was Casey who spoke next.

"M.J., I, ah, umm... I'm...well, dat is..."

"...Casey... just go."

Casey didn't immediately move; he looked more like he wanted to say something. But in the end he simply nodded, finished his beer in one swig, and then stood up and went for the doors.

"How'd you find me, anyway?" asked M.J. as Casey opened the door. He half turned, seeing that M.J. was still in the same position on the sofa.

"I just asked aroun' 'till I stumbled on dat diner. Dat nice old lady who works dere told me where she thought you were. Turns out she was right. She was really nice an' thought you were okay."

"I think it has more to do with the big tips I always leave behind."

Casey didn't say anything as he left, closing the door and leaving M.J. alone.

………………

………………

2 hours later...

M.J. sat on one of the few seats available in the subway-train, trying to look calm while he felt the shotgun beneath his jacket pressing hard against his ribs and the weight of the 9mm in his pocket.

_I...I guess it was on that night I realized what kind of lifestyle was waiting for me as a gangster. It wouldn't be the last time I would see someone get killed, nor would I go to only one funeral. Casey may have experience with living on the streets, where running isn't done for just exercise, or where carrying a baseball bat is not just for sport, but he got off easy. He had the chance to live his life as his own._

_Me, I grew up learning that you're either a part of something, or you're nothing and are treated as such. So yeah, I was more like drafted into Grove Street rather than joined willingly. But hey, there were a lot of worse gangs than Grove Street. A lot worse. At least Grove stood for something, even though it was a bit naive. And yeah, Grove was in the end just a gang, but I want to believe Grove was the lesser evil._

_I guess I… just tried to make the most of what I had. Didn't make many actual friends; mostly because I didn't want to one day hear that some or all of them were killed by a rival gang or the police. I tried to live each day to the fullest, but the damn nagging thought that it might be my last always kept bugging me. Being a gangster doesn't exactly come with a long life span. _

Suddenly M.J. grimaced and brought a hand to his eyes, gently rubbing them as the sudden pain slowly left again.

_And what the hell was that back with Casey? I mean, when he went to punch me, everything just... slowed down or something. I feel like my brain got shoved into a microwave and set to fry. And my eyes still hurt, especially if there's too much light around. Should have brought my sunglasses._

_But what happened? What happened back there, just... just doesn't happen! It's not supposed to! Maybe... it's a sign. Maybe I'm losing my mind. I mean, I've been slowly losing pieces of my soul, so why not my sanity, too? Or maybe it's just whatever grip I have on reality. I've always pretended that things were different or just looked the other way. Pretended that being a Grover was the best thing that had ever happened to me, pretended that I was okay with things that went on around me. Been pretending that what I've been doing is...okay. That it is justifiable. So who knows, maybe I've pretended so many times that I'm slowly becoming more and more incapable of separating what is real and what is fantasy._

_Heh, maybe I should e-mail the Wachowski brothers. They seem to specialize in the human mind. And who knows, maybe- _

M.J. snapped back from his thoughts as some nasty laughter sounded at the end of the train. Bending slightly forward, he could see a gang of thugs coming, obviously enjoying scaring the passengers and getting away with it. And when M.J. spotted a familiar tattoo on one of them, he sat up right in his seat and cursed silently in his head.

_Purple Dragons! Of all the... wait, how long I have been on this train anyway?_

M.J. checked his watch and nearly cursed out loud this time.

_Shit! Got so caught up in my own damn thoughts, I've been here for nearly an hour! I'm probably now at the heart of the Dragons' territory! And here I am, with only a 9mm, a shotgun and no ammo! And I was heading back to Emet to get some more. Talk about irony..._

The thugs, around six of them, were almost on M.J., who did his best not to call attention to himself. Instead, he leaned slightly towards the passenger on his right, who was reading a newspaper. Well, probably pretending to read it like M.J. was, since his hands shook a little and droplets of sweat were forming on his face as the gangsters came closer.

They were snickering about something as they passed by and seemed to be heading to the next cart, when one of them stopped in front of one of the passengers, seated just a couple of feet away from M.J.. He didn't see who it was, but by the sounds of things the passenger was a woman. The thug tried some dumb cheesy pick-up lines and the rest of his buddies laughed stupidly. It went on for about a minute, and just as the train was slowing down, M.J. risked glancing away from the paper and at one of the thugs.

Who at the same time glanced in M.J.'s direction.

Their eyes met, and the thug's widened in recognition.

The thug froze and started slowly shaking, looking terrified. A dark spot slowly formed on his pants.

M.J. recognized him, too. It was that kid from Big T's crack house. He still had no Dragon tatts on him.

"Hey Billy, what's wrong?" One of his _buddies_ had noticed Billy's odd behavior, and his eyes slowly moved to where Billy was staring. He saw M.J and their eyes met. The thug looked familiar, but M.J. couldn't remember where he'd seen him.

Regardless, the thug remembered M.J. from somewhere.

"Holy-! Guys, it's him! It's that Grove killer!" The rest of them looked at M.J., one or two of whom also had a look of recognition on their faces. After a few seconds had passed that felt like years, one of them reached into his jacket.

M.J. was quicker. As he rose up, he pulled out his 9mm and shot the thug somewhere in the chest, just as the train slowed down at the next stop. Screams of panic erupted among the passengers, some throwing themselves to the floor, while still others tried to get away as fast as possible. The train's doors slowly opened and by the looks of things, the people outside had heard the gunshot and were running away.

Without a second glance, M.J. ran out of the train and immediately spotted a security guard, coming towards him with a gun in his hands. M.J. turned to his left and ran alongside the train, ignoring the security guard's yell to stop, until he reached the opening of the tunnel. Jumping off the platform and into the tunnel, M.J. ran as fast as he could into the dark.

Meanwhile, back at the platform, one of the Purple Dragons pulled out a cell phone. Holding a finger to his other ear to muffle the noises coming from the panicking people, he almost had to yell into his phone.

"Hank! It's Will! You're not gonna believe this!"

………………

………………

"Oh man, I'm not so sure 'bout this."

"Shut up, fool, and stay alert! That bastard couldn't have gone far!"

"B-but w-what if a t-t-train c-comes?"

"They won't start the trains in this section 'till the cops figure out what happened back 'dere. 'Till then, we got a couple of hours. Now shut up an' keep yer eyes open!"

The four Purple Dragons continued running in the underground tunnel, all of them armed. But then suddenly, one of them stopped and ran back. "Hey guys! I found something!"

The rest turned back to see what it was. In a small space between the tracks and the wall, there was a half-open manhole.

"Think he went dere?"

"Where else would he go?" snapped their leader as he pulled out his cell and dialed a number.

"Hank, it's Will again. Guess what; the dumb bastard is in the sewers. Spread the word to everyone. Dat guy's been killin' too many of us already. An' see if Hun will give us dat bounty he placed couple of days ago."

………………

_3 hours later..._

M.J., knee-deep in foul-smelling sewer water, waded through it as fast as he could without causing too much noise, constantly looking over his shoulder as he griped his shotgun tighter. Approaching yet another intersection, he suddenly saw flashlight beams up ahead and quickly took cover behind two large pipes.

No sooner had he done so, then nearly twenty Purple Dragons passed by, most armed with guns while the rest carried bats, chains and pipes. Almost half of them were also holding flashlights, and twelve of them broke off from the group and walked down the passage where M.J. had been coming from. Fortunately, none of them spotted the pipes or thought about checking them.

M.J. waited ten agonizing minutes before daring to step out of his hiding place. With no signs of more Purple Dragons, he took the path to the left, where the Dragons had already passed.

_I hate the sewers. _

_It's not just the smell; it's the thought of all the germs and shit that I got all over my clothes that really freak me out. I swear, if I get out of this one alive, I'm gonna burn these damn clothes and donate all the money I got to some city project that aims to seal up all sewer accesses. _

M.J. suddenly stopped and listened for something. After an almost nerve-breaking minute where he detected nothing strange, he resumed wading through the water.

_These damn Purple Dragons are everywhere. There must be hundreds of them all over the area. Guess I really must be at the heart of their turf. Been trying to find some way out, but it's all guarded, and only the thought of going up and walking around right outside Hun's place makes me just stay down here. For the past hour or so I've tried to just walk a straight line, hoping to end up near the ocean or at least out of the Dragons' turf. 'Course, since their turf is so damn big, I got no clue whether I'm out or not. For all I know I'm just going deeper and deeper into the Dragon's lair, so to speak. _

_One thing's for sure, though. Aside from getting spotted by a group of Purple Dragons, things can't possibly get any worse. _

Up ahead, M.J. saw a footpath next to the walls. Climbing up to it and trying hard not to see what was sticking to his pants and shoes, M.J. was rather grateful that he no longer needed to be in that dirty water. After walking for a while along these narrow lanes, he noticed another passageway intercepting the one he was walking in, forming an X shape. M.J. walked up the corner and glanced to his right. He was about to check left, when he spotted some strange figures…

And totally froze. Partially out of surprise, but mostly out of total fear as a nightmare became real.

"Oooooh, shiiit... just how many are you!" M.J. half-yelled, a part of him surprised that his mouth somehow managed to work. And somehow, the thought of aiming the shotgun at those things never even occurred to him.

For almost a week he had tried to figure out just _what_ had attacked him on the roof that night. A demon, an alien or something else entirely, he just couldn't figure out what the hell it had been. And the nightmares hadn't helped one bit. In the end he had just decided to try and forget about the incident, to forget about _it_, but that plan was blown right out the window as soon as he saw _three_ of those things standing there, almost half hidden in the shadows. There were signs in their body language that they, too, had been taken by surprise at M.J.'s sudden appearance, though he doubted they felt the same fear that was running through him at that moment.

No one moved or said anything, and the tension slowly built. M.J. looked at each of these creatures, and the pure white in their eyes was extremely unnerving. There seemed to be a subtle difference in their skin colors, but what made them really stand apart were their bandanas. The one at the front had a blue bandana, while the other two sported purple and orange, respectively. When the variety of colors registered to M.J., he almost blinked in confusion.

_Wait, I remember the one who attacked me had a red bandana. Where is..._

With speed that he didn't know he had, M.J. reached into his jacket with his left hand and pulled out his 9mm. Aiming the shotgun at the group in front of him, he half turned to the left, leveling his pistol at whatever was there. He had planned on giving the unseen corridor a brief glance, panning back to the freaks in case they tried to attack and then back to the left in case there was something there.

But what he saw next made his quick plan blow right out the window.

There, on the other side of the small tunnel, was a four-foot-tall, hairy… thing, wearing something that looked like an old brown bath robe. It was leaning on a wooden cane, its stern eyes fixed on M.J. He blinked several times, unsure of what the hell he was seeing and totally forgetting what his shotgun was aimed at.

Without a word, the thing lifted it's... hand, paw, off the cane and made a stopping gesture. Blinking in surprise, M.J. suddenly remembered the other creatures and quickly looked back. Indeed, it looked like the green dudes had been about to charge at him, with their weapons in their hands and everything, but were stopped by the... hairy one.

Remembering it one again, M.J. quickly looked back. It was still there, standing on the same spot, with a certain stern, warning look in the eyes, somehow silently saying that should he try anything, he would regret it.

And then, without thinking and totally forgetting the situation he was in, M.J. closed his eyes and pressed his left hand against his head, feeling the cold metal against his temple just above the headache that was slowly forming.

"I need a drink."


	5. Chapter 5

AUTHOR: Merry Christmas and a happy new year! And special thanks to Dierdre who beta this chapter.

**WARNING: **Swearing, dark, gore, etc, etc, etc.

* * *

_Whether those green dudes had decided not to capitalize on my moment of stupidity, or even that... grey hairy thing, I had no __clue. Who knows, maybe I just knew they wouldn't do anything since they didn't when my back was turned. Or maybe I just wasn't thinking at all._

_Regardless, if they were planning to jump me or merely waiting to see if I turned hostile or not, a shout of "There he is!" followed by the sounds of bullets hitting the wall next to me probably put a dent in whatever plans they had._

M.J. ducked down on reflex as pieces of the wall pelted him. Half turning, he aimed his 9mm and fired several shots towards the dark figures that were emerging from the only unoccupied tunnel. He couldn't tell if he actually hit any of the Purple Dragons, but the shots at least made them keep their heads down. Turning back to face the riverbank in front of him, M.J. jumped across, landing in a very undignified manner and almost falling into the sewer water.

Cursing to himself as he scrambled upright, M.J. started running as fast as he could, without even looking back to see what those creatures were doing now. Just before he had jumped, he had seen both creatures practically melt into the shadows, as if becoming part of it.

_Oh man, just like that thing did in my nightmares!_

More shots screamed from the darkness and hit the unseen wall to his right, but M.J. kept on running, the memories of his nightmares giving him an extra boost. A few seconds later, a couple more shots were fired, quickly followed by cries of pain and surprise.

_Sounds like someone is dealing out some major whoop-ass._

M.J. kept running, however, with no intentions of going back to see what had happened.

* * *

80 minutes later... 

"I don't like this, man."

"You been sayin' that for half an hour already. Give it a rest!"

"Hey man, it's been over an hour since we lost contact with not one group, not two, but _three!_ That's gotta be over forty guys at least!"

"Yer point?"

"Point? _Point?_ There's no way that Grove guy got 'em all, so that leaves only one other option. Well, four, actually, but you know what I mean."

"Oh, fer cryin' out loud, like I didn't see that one comin'..."

"It's those green freaks! It's gotta be them! I mean, why else would da Foot be 'round here, too?"

"Oh phu-leeze. Just 'cause Chuck mentioned that he _thought _he saw some Foot runnin' around here somewhere, don't mean jack! Now shattap, we're supposed to be guardin' dis intersection, not chatting an' giving away our position."

The younger of the two turned to the other, looking like he was about to argue some more, but he made the mistake of turning his back to the dark opening he was supposed to guard.

A heavy blow to the back of the head sent the youngster collapsing to the dirty metal floor. The other spun around, his left-handed grip on the gun momentarily forgotten as he stood face-to-face with a hard set of pale green eyes. M.J. thrust the butt of his shotgun into the punk's groin, causing him to double over in pain. He then slammed his weapon into the Purple Dragon's face, causing him to fly backwards as blood sprayed from his broken nose and lips. He landed heavily on the floor and didn't get up again.

"_Hey! Did you guys hear that?"_

"_Came from over dere!"_

Voices and shadows came from up ahead, right next the ascending stairs that M.J. had planned on using. He didn't even have time to curse as Purple Dragons appeared, all armed and looking pissed. M.J. had only a split second to decide what to do; fight, turn and run, or jump into the sewer stream beside him.

His 9mm was half empty and the distance was too long to use the shotgun. Maybe it had been an echo or just paranoia, but he could have sworn he had heard something coming from the passage behind him. So that only left the final option.

_Here goes nothing..._

The second M.J. landed in the stream with a disconcerting plop he knew it had been a bad decision, not to mention a stupid one. The current was strong, much stronger than M.J. had thought. His lost his grip on his 9mm and barely kept his shotgun as the current sent him hurtling into a narrow tunnel, the ceiling brushing dangerously close to his head. It was almost completely dark inside, and his imagination didn't make it easier by filling his head with pictures of his body suddenly slamming into a wall, or being sucked into a small pipe and getting stuck there, or getting sliced into pieces by a giant fan, or-

Suddenly, the tunnel took a sharp turn to the right and bright light momentarily blinded him. When his eyes adjusted and sight returned, M.J. saw that he had indeed reached the end of the tunnel. Literally.

Everything was still a bit blurry from the sudden burst of light, but the sensation of falling was unmistakable.

"OH, SHIIII-" M.J.'s cry of terror was cut short when he landed hard on a rough surface. He almost bounced on it as the air was knocked out of his lungs, and he lost his grip on the shotgun, though it had landed within arm's reach. He laid there on his stomach, blinking to clear his eyes and trying to make his lungs remember how to breathe. He regained his vision quickly, though what he saw made him wonder if he had landed on his head.

The room was big, very big. Looked to be an old drainage junction of some kind, with over four entrances. But what stood out the most were the people in it, if you could call them that. To M.J.'s extreme dismay and slight fear, the three green creatures were in the room, along with that rat thing. Just to make things stranger, there were people dressed in some sort of grey pajamas, all wearing black masks to cover their faces and holding a bunch of weird-looking swords and spears. From the looks of things, they had all been in the middle of a heated fight, with each of those green freaks facing off against three or four of those grey weirdoes. Even the big rat had six surrounding him, but judging by all the unconscious --or possibly dead-- bodies lying on the floor, the creatures were not outclassed.

But in whatever state the fight had been in, all attention was now focused on him… and being the center of this kind of attention did not bring about a good feeling. The creatures had a look of recognition on their faces, and even though there was no way to read facial expressions on the grey pajamas guys, the tilt of their heads and the exchanged looks made it clear they were surprised.

An uncomfortable silence reigned, with the only sounds coming from the flow of water trickling through the exposed sewer pipes around the room.

"...uh...hi," M.J. finally mumbled, waving sheepishly. The green one wearing the blue bandana slapped a hand over his face while purple and orange exchanged sidelong looks. The rat's expression remained hidden behind one of his attackers, but the other pajama guys' reactions were easy to interpret.

"Slay the freaks, and somebody take care of that idiot!" someone shouted in anger. Just about everyone seemed to snap back to their senses and resume fighting with the green guys and the rat, while three pajamas came charging towards M.J., as if they were racing who would get to kill him first.

The closest one, appearing suddenly on M.J.'s left, raised his katana to cleave his head off as he charged towards him. The blade caught the reflection of a nearby light bulb, giving it a sharp glow as it came closer and closer. M.J. just stared at the blade, barely hearing a yell of warning that came from the blue dude. But as the blade came down M.J. suddenly blinked, snapped out of his fear and let pure instinct took over. Forcing all of his strength into his left arm, he rolled himself away to the right, narrowly dodging the blade, which sparked as it hit the rusty metal floor where M.J.'s neck had been a second ago.

In the middle of the roll, M.J. managed to grab his shotgun and come to a halt in a kneeling position. The pajama guy that had tried to cleave his head off was already moving towards him, the blade ready for another swing. A second was approaching swiftly in front of him, while the third came from the far right.

And suddenly, for the second time that day, everything just... slowed down.

The flow of sewer water spewing from the pipes slowed down, the sounds changing into a deep roar of thunder. On the other side of the room, the blue thing's swords clashed with another's, creating sparks that cascaded everywhere. M.J.'s eyes then turned to the closest attacker, who was slowly swinging the blade towards him. Rising up with equal slowness, M.J. aimed the shotgun and fired.

For a brief moment, M.J. felt a slight tingling sensation when he pulled the trigger, watching as the shotgun pellets left behind a blurry path before slamming into the attacker. For a second it looked like they had passed through cleanly, but then all of a sudden blood seemed to explode from the attacker's chest and back, as his body started flying backwards from the impact of the slugs.

Without even a conscious thought, M.J. jacked the shotgun, eying the empty shell that flew out in slow motion, before turning and aiming the weapon at the attacker in front of him. A second tingling sensation went through his body as the slugs tore through the right side of the pajama guy's chest. M.J. could almost hear the sounds of muscles ripping away from bone as the attacker's right arm was separated from his torso. The arm, still holding the blade, continued flying towards M.J., who sidestepped to the right, the blade narrowly missing him.

The final attacker's blade slowly swung towards M.J., who ducked down as the blade sailed over his head, cutting off a few strands of hair. Jacking the shotgun again, M.J. shoved the shotgun under the attacker's chin and pulled the trigger.

The moment the pajama guy's head exploded, everything returned back to normal time, with only a slight ringing in M.J.'s ears.

M.J. blinked as two bodies hit the floor, followed by the empty shells. The fight in the room had stopped once more, and M.J. slowly turned, his eyes wide as he took in the carnage he had created.

M.J. felt that everyone was looking at him, and a part inside him shuddered under the stares, while his mouth slowly started to work, "...did... did I just-"

He never got a chance to finish, for blinding, white-hot pain suddenly filled his mind.

He didn't scream. The pain was so intense that it blocked the command to do so. He was vividly aware of falling to the floor, as something wet and hot poured out of his nose. His eardrums felt like they were about to explode, and his eyes were on fire, as if someone had shoved them into a bucket of salt.

As M.J. laid there with his face hidden behind his hands, shaking like he was having some kind of seizure, two ninjas walked cautiously up to him. Seeing blood seep from between his fingers, the two ninjas exchanged looks, momentarily unsure what to do. The three bodies of their fallen brethren soon reminded them, however, and both of them raised their blades over M.J. and struck down hard.

CH-CHING!

A third blade blocked their attacks. The blue bandana creature gritted his teeth and roundhouse kicked the nearest ninja into the other, tossing both of them away. Blue bandana made a quick sweep around to see if more ninjas were coming, and then spared a glance at M.J. A slight gasp escaped his lips at seeing his wretched state.

"Hey, Don! I think we gotta problem here!" blue bandana yelled, bracing himself as the two ninjas regained their feet and posed to make another move.

"You don't say!" responded purple bandana, who was fending off three attackers at once.

Orange bandana, who was busy dealing with two ninjas circling around him, paused long enough to shout over his shoulder, "Never thought I'd be the one saying this, but where's Raph when you need him?"

"He went the other way with Casey. Now less talk, more fight!" snapped blue bandana as the two ninjas chose that moment to attack him from opposite directions.

* * *

_Pain...can't...think...hurts..._

Through the electric, stabbing pain, M.J.'s eyes slowly opened. His eyes felt like they were boiling, and he saw nothing but a red haze. Slowly blinking, the blood in his eyes cleared away and through his still blurry vision, he could barely make out a tunnel just ahead.

_Gotta...get...outta here..._

All around him there was noise. The clash of metal. Battle cries. The meaty thuds of kicks and punches. For the moment none of that mattered to him, however. He only wanted to get out, to get away from those... those... _things_ and those pajama guys, away from the Purple Dragons and away from the pain. He slowly crawled towards the tunnel, but such a method of travel went too slowly. With what little strength he had left, he shakily got to his knees, and then to his feet. He staggered towards the exit, while trying not to lose bowel control in the process.

Suddenly, the pain behind his eyes intensified, and the tunnel entrance split into three.

_Aw hell, just... aim for the one... in the middle..._

Staggering left and right, M.J. half ran into the tunnel, but lost his balance after only a few steps and fell hard to the floor. Face down in the muck and yuck, he might have lain there, for five seconds or five minutes. He had no clue which. His sense of time was all jumbled. The pain in his head had slightly lessened, but he barely noticed it as he lay prone, trying to find enough strength to stand up again.

CLUNG!

A wooden stick suddenly bounced across the floor and rolled passed M.J.

"...mmm?"

A moment later, something landed hard right next to M.J. and grunted in pain. At first it was just a small, grey, blurry object, but the image quickly cleared. M.J. blinked again bemusedly when he saw that it was that big rat, its expression a perfect mixture of pain and anger as it slowly tried to stand up. Its eyes opened, revealing grey-colored eyes that held an intelligence that M.J. hadn't noticed before. They also held anger in them, though that emotion was soon replaced by surprise when its eyes met M.J.'s. For a couple of seconds, both of them just laid there, blinking at each other. No doubt M.J.'s appearance had surprised the rat; his eyes were literally bloodshot, his face smeared with blood as more slowly oozed out of his nose and ears. M.J. was blissfully unaware of his disheveled state, however, for he was still trying to accept that he was looking at a four-foot-tall rat.

But just as he was about to remember how his vocal cords worked, something small and round rolled between the two and stopped. Both glanced at it and realized at the same time just what it was. It was around the size of a tennis ball, with an emblazoned flame tattoo that was blinking red faster and faster. And something that was blinking red at an increasing rate only meant one thing.

Both M.J. and the rat glanced at each other, and then simultaneously reached out and grabbed the time bomb. With one hand gripping half of it and a paw holding the other; they tossed it back to where it had come from. And not a moment too soon.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

M.J. felt like his eardrums had exploded, as the bright flash from the bomb nearly blinded him. He covered his head with his arms as everything started to rumble. The bomb had exploded at the tunnel's entrance, and the ceiling started to come crashing down.

* * *

The data that came in was far worse then he had braced himself for, and he breathed in sharply as he saw what was happening to the brain. He immediately started typing in commands, requesting more data and damage assessments, his large fingers carefully navigating across the command console. He was so caught up in his work, that he didn't notice someone had entered the room. 

"It has happened, hasn't it?"

He nearly jumped out of his lab coat from sheer fright, before he turned to face the new arrival. "M-Mr. Mortu! I am, that is I... I..."

Mr. Mortu's Exo-suit raised a hand in a silent gesture as he walked up to the computer screen, which showed a human brain marred in specific areas by several small red dots. As he leaned in closer to examine the data, his large companion's face was drenched in worry and fear. Finally, Mr. Mortu gave a sigh after viewing something that he had hoped would not happen.

"When did they become active?"

"T-this morning. I-I was in the middle of an experiment, when suddenly data started coming in, telling me that the nano-probes in his brain had suddenly activated themselves, causing much... damage and pain," the last words were whispered in guilt, and he lowered his head in remorse as Mr. Mortu looked up to face him. "I... I had hoped that... it would only happen once, that it would be an isolated incident, but then these new readings just came in and... it has gotten worse. Much, much worse."

"You know what I have to do, do you not?"

"Yes... the... the Council will have to be informed... of everything."

"And I intend to take full responsibility of what has happened."

Hearing those words, he looked sharply at Mr. Mortu, his eyes wide. "W-what? B-but Mr. Mortu, it was I who brought him here in secret and administered the nano-probes into his body and-"

"And it was I who discovered what you were doing and remained silent about it. I can understand your motives, Leatherhead. Your intentions were good, but this situation has drastically changed. Not only have we done more harm than good, but steps need to be taken to avoid our nano-probes falling into _his_ hands. The Council has to be informed."

Leatherhead closed his eyes, silently wishing that things had turned out differently. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again and looked down at Mr. Mortu.

"Mr. Mortu, please, I am truly, _truly_ sorry that this has happened. I only wanted to save him. H-he was badly wounded, and I had only made it worse by attacking him when I was... when t-the Beast was in control. I-I came back to my senses before I could h-hurt him more, but as I saw him and smelled his scent, all t-these memories j-just came back to me. I just, I j-just knew that, that-"

Mr. Mortu placed his hand on Leatherhead's shoulder, for he was clearly getting more and more emotional as he retold the event. Feeling Mr. Mortu's touch calmed him down as he took several deep breaths, while Mr. Mortu spoke with a reassuring smile, "Like I said, Leatherhead, I fully understand your decision to help him, as you've already told me what these memories were about. Your intentions were good, but that does not change what has happened here. I will go to the Council and tell them everything, and then we will find him and take him here, and hope that we'll be able to fix what we have done to him."

Leatherhead nodded, but then bowed his head in shame once more. Mr. Mortu placed his other hand on his remaining shoulder, compelling him to look back up. "I assure you, Leatherhead, none of us will think ill or less of you. What you did was also in our nature; you saw a chance to save a life and you took it. And for that, I am proud of you."

Leatherhead blinked, and a smile slowly spread across his face as he quickly wiped away tears that had formed in his eyes. Mr. Mortu gave his shoulders a final gentle squeeze, before removing his hands. "Now, while I am gone, I need you to stay here in case anything else happens. I shall not be long."

And with that, Mr. Mortu left Leatherhead, who then turned back to the screen showing M.J.'s brain. Gently, he placed his large hand on the screen, as if hoping he could somehow lessen the pain he had caused.

* * *

Slowly, M.J. lifted his head up to see if he had been buried alive. The cave-in had apparently stopped, although a loose rock occasionally fell from the ceiling. Dust was everywhere, thick as a cloud, but he could still faintly see the passage ahead, which meant it hadn't also crumbled. Looking back, M.J. nearly had a heart attack when he saw how close the rubble was to him, only a couple of feet away. 

A dull pain suddenly blossomed behind his eyes and he squeezed them shut, starting to notice just how shitty he felt. His eyeballs felt like they had grown three sizes too big for his skull, his mouth was like a desert, he could barely breathe through his nose, and his head felt like it had a horse kicking inside it every other second. A momentary feeling of nausea rippled around in his stomach, but he managed to suppress it as he tried to will himself to stand up.

A high-pitched beeping suddenly sounded right next to him, nearly making his heart jump out of his mouth.

Breathing heavily, which made him cough because of all the dust, he could barely see something small lying within arm's reach. Carefully reaching for the object, he grabbed it and brought it closer to see what the hell was making all the noise. The device's casing resembled a green shell, and it was about as big as a cell phone. Turning it over revealed a small screen along with some buttons, one of which blinked each time the thing ringed. Not really considering that it might be some kind of a bomb, M.J. pressed the button and brought it to his ear.

"_-aster Splinter! Are you alright?"_

M.J. flinched and moved the cell-thingy away, starting to feel pissed. The last thing he needed right about now was to talk to someone who yelled into cell phones.

"_Master Splinter! Respond!"_

"Didn't yer momma ever tell ya not to yell into phones!" snapped M.J., his temper getting the best of him. There was a moment of stunned silence before the voice spoke again, the worry replaced by anger.

"_Who is this?.!"_

"I'm the Devil, who the fuck are you?" M.J. yelled back. He was starting to have a feeling that the speaker was one of those green freaks, and since tons of rocks was between him and them, he felt confident enough to piss them off.

"Give me that!"

The voice snapped angrily right next to M.J., and suddenly the cell thingy was snatched away from him. Looking up, he nearly had another heart attack when he saw it was the rat, standing right next to him as if he had been there the whole time.

The rat gave him an irritated look before speaking into the cell. "I am alright, my sons."

_S-sons?_ M.J. blinked. ...Ew_, I wonder what their mom looks like_.

"What of you? Are you all alright?" The rat asked. An expression of relief softened his features when the reply came, but he quickly hid it as if realizing he was not alone.

The one on the other end of the line went on, sounding like he was speaking in a hurry, while the rat just calmly nodded. "Yes, I am not alone. It would appear that I am trapped with..." the rat trailed off for a second, until he looked down at M.J., who was still on the floor, "what is your name, child?"

M.J. did a double take. "C-child! I'm twenty, not twelve!"

The rat gave him a glare and suddenly M.J. wished he was somewhere else, preferably facing thirty Purple Dragons with both hands tied behind his back. Anything was better than being on the receiving end of that glare. "P-people c-call me M.J."

The rat nodded and went back to the cell. "The young man's name is M.J... No, Leonardo, he has not made himself to be a threat..." _Leonardo? Like the painter?_ "...no, I see no way through the rubble. I seem to be located at..." The rat looked around, until he saw an old pipe with some markings on it. "Section three-six-JX. …yes, I know where it is. I shall meet you there. But be on your guard, there are bound to be more Foot ninjas about."

_Did he just say foot ninjas?_

The rat said his goodbye to his _sons_, grumbling a bit to himself as he searched for the off button. He placed the cell in his bathrobe after finding it, and then set his paws on his hips and looked down at M.J., somehow looking like a father about to scold his son.

"Well?" it… he… _HE_ asked, looking like he was waiting for M.J. to do something.

"Uh...w-well, what?" M.J. asked nervously, silently hoping the rat wouldn't give that glare again.

"Are you not going to assist an elderly man to his cane?" the rat said, pointing at something up ahead. The dust was not as thick anymore and M.J. could now see a walking stick up ahead, lying on the floor.

"Uh... s-sure," M.J. responded, slowly pushing himself up and trying his best to ignore the protestations from his muscles. Upon standing up, M.J. suddenly felt a wave of dizziness and almost fell back to the floor, when he felt something supporting him. Looking down, he saw that it was the rat, one paw on his back as he leaned against him.

"It is this way," the rat said with a hint of impatience as he pointed towards the cane.

"...right." M.J. started walking towards the cane, the rat walking with him. It was then that M.J. noticed that the rat hobbled; an indication that one of his legs was either broken or sprained. He thought about asking if he was okay, but decided against it. Somehow, the rat struck him as the type who disliked admitting to or showing weakness.

The two walked up to the cane and the rat bent down to pick it up. A barely audible sigh of irritation came from the rat as he turned the wooden cane around, which was all battered and seemed on the verge of breaking in two. That did not, strangely enough, make the rat throw the cane away. Instead he held it in his right paw and once again leaned on M.J.

"Follow the path down and take the second turn to the right." The rat made it plain as day that he expected M.J. to help him walk towards wherever he was heading. M.J. did a double take, raised a finger to protest fiercely, opened his mouth and-

And the rat looked into his eyes, seemingly waiting to see what M.J. had to say.

"...right."

Saying nothing more, the two made their way down the tunnel.

* * *

_20 minutes later..._

"That way." The rat pointed to one of the four tunnel passages and M.J. started walking again. For the tenth time he glanced down at the rat while trying not to make it obvious, and for the sixth time he opened his mouth to say something. But once again nothing came out, and so he closed it again and swallowed saliva for the fourth time.

"You have questions." It was more of a statement than a question, and M.J. became twice as nervous when he realized that the rat must have somehow noticed all the glances.

"...uh, y-yeah, I... I do," responded M.J., mentally kicking himself for letting the nervousness creep into his voice.

"Quite understandable, young man. Ask, and I shall answer," replied the rat in that calm, wise-ass voice of his, making no hint he had heard M.J.'s nervous reply.

"W-well, I suppose the most obvious one is..." M.J. tried to think of a way to ask without sounding rude, but nothing came so he settled with frankness, "...what are you?"

"A mutant," the rat answered calmly, as if M.J. had just asked what time it was. "Turn left at the next turn."

"M-mutant? And those green dudes?"

"Mutated turtles. Turn right here."

_Mutated turtles. Huh. I thought I saw something odd on their backs back there. It turns out it really was their backs._

"How many are you?"

"That I will not answer," replied the rat, with steel in his voice. M.J. got the message. He had over a ton of questions left, but had trouble selecting one as they took another left turn. Suddenly, M.J. remembered something.

"Hey, who were those guys you were fighting against back there?"

"Servants of an enemy that is determined to see us destroyed at any cost."

_...is that guy cryptic by nature or choice?_

"...oookay ...well, it looked like those gre-turtles knew how to handle 'em."

"Indeed, they have come a long way in their study of ninjitsu."

"Ni-what?"

"Ninjitsu, the art of a ninja."

"What, you mean like assassins?"

One moment M.J. was looking ahead to see where the next turn would appear, and then he blinked and was suddenly looking at the ceiling. But before he could ask the rat what was going on, the sensation of falling accompanied a bang as he landed hard on the floor, the air knocked out of his lungs. M.J. blinked and started to slowly get up, when the end of a wooden cane was pressed against his throat, forcing him down once more. The rat appeared above him, an angry look on his face and his grey fur standing erect.

"I will not tolerate someone comparing an old and honorable tradition to the likes of some cowardly thugs, who value their purse more than Honor! Your words are those of ignorance, and I hope you shall not make such a mistake again!" The rat hissed and M.J. could only stare at the unexpected fury, not even daring to blink. A few seconds passed and the cane pressed harder against his throat.

"Is that understood?" the rat asked again as M.J. gasped for air, his vision going blurry. A strangled cough came from his lips, and he tried his best to nod. The cane was removed and M.J. breathed in much needed air, coughing like mad as the pain in his eyes only increased.

M.J. looked up and saw an offered paw. Nervously eyeing the rat, he saw that much of his fury had left his eyes, though there was still a slight glow left in them. M.J. eyed the paw again, and then the rat, before hesitantly accepting the offered paw. Considering how small he looked, M.J. was surprised how strong the rat was as he nearly hoisted him up all by himself. The rat leaned against M.J. once more and pointed towards the passage ahead.

"Third turn to the right."


	6. Chapter 6

AUTHOR: Special thanks to Reinbeicher and Dierdre who are now my betas! Hope people will enjoy and leave many reviews!

**WARNING: **Dark, swearing, drugs, sex….well okay, maybe not that.

…

…

…

"I wish to apologize."

"Huh?" M.J. responded intelligently, caught by surprise at the rat's sudden announcement.

After the rat's angry outburst, total silence had reigned between the two for nearly thirty minutes. The only time the rat spoke during this interval was when he announced a five-minute break. The rat was now sitting down, his back leaning against the wall with the cane in his lap, while M.J. sat against the opposite wall, as far from the rat as possible without making it obvious. His wet clothes were chilling his skin, and his eyes still hurt, though not nearly as much as forty minutes ago.

"My... outburst. You have to understand, Mr. M.J., the few hours before we first met have been most difficult and stressful for us. For you see, the people you saw us fighting, the Foot Ninjas, have forced us to abandon our home. We managed to avoid a direct confrontation and had intended to slip by them, but eventually they found us. To have been separated from my sons, with no idea how many Foot Ninjas might be upon them, and then to hear a tradition I have spent my whole life learning being compared to..."

The rat's voice increased slightly with rising anger, and he closed his eyes to calm himself. M.J. oh-so-slowly inched just a bit away from the rat, keeping an eye on his cane. After couple of seconds the rat opened his eyes, which now held stability within them. "The bottom line, Mr. M.J., is that though your words were offensive, you doubtlessly meant no ill, and thus my reaction was most inappropriate. You have my deepest apologies."

The rat finished speaking and bowed his head. M.J. blinked stupidly at him a couple of times, before realizing that he was expected to answer. "Uh, y-yeah, no, uh... no hard feelings. I... I guess the past hours have been hard, huh?"

Not the most intelligent sentence M.J. had ever said, but it seemed to do, for the slightest hint of a smile crossed the rat's face before he became serious once more.

"Yes, Mr. M.J., tension has been most high lately. The enemy is as determined to find us as he is dishonorable, and it would appear that he has many resources. And speaking of our enemy," the rat said, slowly standing up, "we must continue if we are to avoid detection."

Without saying a word, M.J. got up and walked over to the rat, waiting for him to lean against him, and then they continued their journey.

"...so... what is a ninja, then?" M.J. asked carefully, his throat still feeling a little bit sore.

"A ninja is one who upholds honor and protects the weak when it is needed," responded the rat, with no trace of resentment towards M.J. for his earlier mistake.

His courage somewhat bolstered, he asked, "What, like the samurai?"

This time, the rat looked up at M.J., although with a slightly curious expression. "You know the life of a samurai?"

"Well, no, not really. Just... bits and pieces."

"Humor me."

"Well... its origin is in Japan, clunky armor, their weapon of choice are those katana sword thingies, death before dishonor and… that pretty much sums it up. Mostly just bits and pieces I picked up by watching some samurai movies. Common knowledge, I guess."

"Yes. Still, there are people who know even less. The samurai first appeared in Japan during the Shogun period."

"Shogun... wait, isn't that some sort of a warlord?"

"...From a certain point of view, I suppose." The rat didn't say it, but the tone of his voice made it clear. _Shut the hell up and let the old wise rat talk._ "The ninja himself appeared later on. They were the samurai's worst enemy, for the samurai only fought what he could see in front of him, while the ninja struck from the shadows, the samurai's blindside."

The rat probably meant to go on, but M.J. hesitantly raised his left hand like a nervous schoolchild about to question a strict teacher. "Umm, I-I thought that the samurai w-were the... good guys?"

The rat blinked in slight surprise, as if remembering something. "Ah, I believe I neglected to reveal an important piece of the ninja's origins. An unforgivable mistake for a teacher," the rat half-mumbled to himself. He placed a paw on his forehead, suddenly looking very tired... and very old.

"Heh, h-hey, it's okay. I mean, hell, we just narrowly escaped getting blown to smithereens, so if that doesn't mess with your memory for a while, I dunno what will." Not M.J.'s best encouragement, though it looked like it had worked to a degree, for the rat removed his paw from his head. M.J. could have sworn a low chuckle came from the rat's throat, although it could have just been something nasty floating past them in the river of sewer water.

"Well, regardless, I shall tell you why the ninja appeared to fight the samurai. Make no mistake, Mr. M.J., many were good and honorable men, as the legends say. But there were also nearly as many who abused their authority, using their skills with a blade to take over towns and rule them as their own, stealing money from the poor and taking food from those who were already starving. A select few realized that these dishonorable men needed to be dealt with, though attacking them directly would be next to suicide. So the ones who wanted to fight them turned to a select few people who had mastered the mystic fighting art of Ninjitsu. At that time, many considered Ninjitsu to be an unusual or fearful art, due to its shadowy nature. But the ones who proved worthy of tutoring, were able to fight against the corrupt samurais and prevailed many times."

Maybe it was the way the rat told it, with so much pride, or maybe it just was the voice itself, but M.J. couldn't help but be fascinated by the storytelling. He found himself liking the big rat, cane or no cane.

"Now, young man, perhaps you would be willing to explain to me why you wounded one of my sons last week?"

M.J. stopped dead in his tracks.

_... ...Oh shit. _

Slowly, M.J. looked down at the rat. He had the same expression now as when he wanted his cane, though this one was slightly more... pissed. Controlled, but pissed. M.J. tried to edge away from the rat, but the paw on his side pushed him back, and the look on the rat's face told volumes that he expected an answer fast.

"Ah, l-look, your son attacked me first. I was just defending myself! Honest!" M.J. could feel panic quickly rising, fearing to be on the receiving end of the cane once more, and that it would do more this time than just put some pressure on his throat.

The rat hmm-ed, as if something had been confirmed. "Yes, I gathered as much, considering it was Raphael. However, is it true what he said, prior to the attack, that you threw someone out the window of a seven story building?"

"That little fucking traitor deserved it. He got off easy." Just the mere mention of that act was enough to replace M.J.'s panic with anger. He stared defiantly down at the rat, as if daring him to challenge his decision.

The rat's only reaction was a raised eyebrow. "A traitor, you say? And just how did he betray you to deserve such an end?"

"You wouldn't understand," replied M.J. He forced himself to continue walking; ignoring the fact the rat had a broken leg, nearly causing Splinter to fall down because of the sudden movement.

"Betrayal comes in many shapes and forms, young man," the rat said with an edge. "A personal betrayal, a betrayal of something that both of you are suppose to believe in, or to an oath both have sworn."

M.J.'s left hand clenched into a tight fist, his fingernails digging deep into the flesh, but he kept a straight face. If the rat noticed, he gave no indication.

After a few minutes had passed in silence, with the exception of the rat indicating where to go, he resumed his talk. "When Raphael returned to us wounded, the rest of my sons intended to look for you. With nothing to go on, however, there was little they could do. But when one of them decided to look up old news articles on the Internet, it was discovered that the Purple Dragon death toll had been stepping up for the past few months. I do admit I am somewhat surprised at not hearing something like that on the news."

M.J. smirked and said without thinking, "Heh, gangbanging in New York is hardly a hot story. If anything, the lack of it would cause some attention."

"So, that's it," the rat said, and M.J. realized a second too late what he had said, "the past killing is nothing more than a dispute between gangs."

Somehow the way the rat said it, making it sound as if it were nothing, as if it were something so... so trivial, just pissed M.J. off. "Hey! Just because you've seen _Boyz in' da 'hood_, it doesn't make you a gang expert! You don't know how things are where I come from!"

For the second time in less than a minute, M.J. stared down at the rat in anger, who in turn had a calm expression. "Then please, tell me of the world you come from."

_Something about that remark made me uncomfortable and made me want to tell the rat to shove it, but curiosity got the better of me._

"...Why do you wanna know? I mean, you being this Ninjitsu master and all, wanting to know 'bout gangs, I dunno, just seems like it's beneath you or sumthin'."

"On the contrary, Mr. M.J. I confess I have wanted to know more about gangs on occasion, simply to ask one why he or she chose that kind of lifestyle, since it all but guarantees a short lifespan."

"Heh, so I've heard." A half-smirk appeared on M.J.'s face, although it was gone a second later. Slowly, he started walking, and the rat kept pace as M.J. pondered the rat's request.

Aw, come on, what's the worst that could happen if I told him? I mean, he did tell me 'bout all that ninja shit and everything, so I might as well return the favor.

"...Yeah, I'm a gangster. Or used to be. I dunno, it's kinda hard to decide since I seem to be the last one of my gang."

"Your gang... was attacked?"

"Exterminated is more like it. By the Purple Dragons. And a traitor."

"A traitor, you say? The one you threw out the window?"

"Yeah. The name of my gang is... _was _Grove Street. When it was our turn to be attacked by the Dragons, our chances were slim to none, but at least that was better than no chance at all. Our weapons were peashooters compared to the heavy gear the Dragons were packin', but we had the numbers an' the will. Thanks to that Backstabbing Bastard, though, the Dragons pretty much snuck up behind us and cut our throats. He didn't only open a door for 'em to send in assaults, but he gave 'em names and locations of Grove's finest. More than half of 'em were gunned down at their homes. Hell, I even heard some of 'em were killed while they were still in their own beds. Now, I won't say us Grove were angels, but damn, we sure as hell wouldn't have sunk that low. There are just some things you don't do, even to a rival gang."

"Really? There are rules between gangs?" The surprising part of the question was the lack of sarcasm in it. Instead it held honest curiosity, which encouraged M.J. to explain, while the rat silently used his cane to point where to go.

"Yeah. Sure, we don't have them written on paper, and I guess each gang has its own rules and stuff, but there are rules that everybody just knows. Like hitting a gang funeral. Never happened to us, at least not after I joined up, but there ain't no better way to declare an all-out war than by hitting a gang funeral.

"I do remember hearing about some dumb hotheaded guys in L.A. who thought they were the new big boys of the streets. They thought that they were tough enough to handle this Spanish gang, and they made a drive-by as the coffin was being carried out of the church. A lot of people got wounded an' couple got killed, but from what I heard, it was like Hell decided to drop by and pay a visit afterwards. See, instead of a gang funeral, it was actually the gang leader's mom that was getting buried. And if there's anything worse than shooting up a gang funeral, it's shooting up a family funeral."

"Attacking when one is burying a loved one would bring tremendous wrath down upon whoever was involved," commented the rat coldly, as the cane pointed to a passage on the right, "but tell me, Mr. M.J., what were the rules in your gang? It sounds like you think very highly of it."

"Well, I ain't gonna pretend we were the holiest gang there ever was, but at least we stood for something. In fact... do you know how the first gangs started and why?"

"No, I do not. In my time I have made some attempt to seek answers with one of my sons, but for once Google actually failed," the rat said wryly, with dry humor in his voice, as if sharing a personal joke.

M.J. gave the old geezer an odd look, before deciding to just ignore it and give the answer. "Anyway, I don't have all of the facts myself, but I sort of know the gist. Think it started back in the early sixties, though I don't know where. Here, L.A., New Jersey, I got no clue. But it started forming in poor neighborhoods, where the people were, ah, a bit darker in skin tone. You gotta understand, at that time pretty much everybody but themselves were against them, including the police. So when troublemakers started making frequent visits to their 'hood, someone needed to take care of 'em. Don't think it all started with them killing the troublemakers, but there were beatings.

"So, it all pretty much started with people wanting to protect their families, since no one else would. I also think they invented gang tags to let other people know their street was protected, though that's just how I figure it. Heh, I wonder if any of 'em had any idea how this would change the world."

"Indeed. Now, Mr. M.J., you told me rather emotionally earlier that the gang you were with stood for something. What did you mean by that? How were things done in Grove Street?"

"Well, I don't mean to brag or anything, but Grove Street was the oldest gang in New York, and once upon a time, the biggest. It formed when drugs started hitting the streets big time, and a couple of guys just got so tired of seeing it slowly kill everyone, that they decided to take matters into their own hands. Like I said, we weren't no angels, but we had enough common sense to attack the ones dealing the damn stuff, not the users. As far as we were concerned, those heartless bastards who sold the drugs were the real problem and over time, it started working. The streets were getting cleaned, the gang grew, and Grove Street was founded on one principal: No drugs."

_Strange, it feels... good to talk about this. In fact, I don't think I've said more in the past five minutes than in the past six months. Aside from this talk and the run-in with Casey, the only one I've talked to is Emet, and that's just when I'm buying heat from him. It's really been a while since I last had decent human contact. I guess that's what makes talking feel so good._

_That, and as long as the rat is interested in learning about the streets, less chance there is of him deciding to shove that cane up my ass for messing with his son._

"An admiral dedication, though I do not much agree with the methods you used. I noticed that when you said Grove Street used to be the biggest of the gangs, you said it with... sadness in your voice. May I ask why?"

_What is he? A ninja master _and_ an empath? _

"...Yeah… Yeah, 'bout ten years ago things started to slowly change. Upholding a no-drugs principal is hard enough when you can get a lot by selling it. But when the gangs all around you are making a killing and using the dough to bolster their powers with heavy weaponry, it gets next to impossible for many not to break that principal, or at least try to bend it. See, even gangs need money, and since we were all anti-drugs and the head families didn't look kindly on getting protection money from people, we had to get cash from different sources."

"And what sources were those?"

"Our number one was illegal street racings, which is where my contribution to Grove Street came in."

"You were a driver?" Judging by the surprised look on the rat's face, he obviously must have thought M.J. was a soldier.

"And pretty damn good one, too, though I didn't always put the pedal to the metal when racing. I was mostly involved in drive-bys. But when a big race was about to start, I was usually the one asked to race for our gang."

"I... see. And in what condition was Grove Street before the Purple Dragons attacked?"

"It sucked. Or at least, that's what I was told by those who had been in Grove for longer then me. Grove slowly started losing streets and power, the families bickered with each other, and two years ago some of our own started selling. I think the beginning of last year was our darkest time, but then the Dragons came into town. The way they took other gangs' turfs so damn fast scared the hell out of us, but it made people put aside their differences and get ready to fight. It didn't do much good in the end, though."

"Still, you stuck to the principal on which your gang was founded. There is honor in that."

M.J. couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, a principal that sounded all noble and shit in the beginning. But in the end, by sticking to it, it's the main reason why Grove couldn't offer a better fight against the Dragons."

Athearing this, the rat stopped so suddenly M.J. nearly lost his balance. Looking down at the rat, he was taken back by the look on his face. It wasn't one of anger or severity, but it was serious. More serious then he had ever seen.

"Do you truly believe that, Mr. M.J.? That if you had broken the very principal which had founded the gang, sold poison to people and used the acquired resources to crush all your enemies, do you truly believe you could have looked back on what your gang once proudly stood for and not have felt shame?"

It felt like time had stopped altogether as M.J. and Splinter gazed at one another, the rat waiting patiently for an answer that M.J. already knew. It just took a little effort saying it out loud.

"...No, I don't believe so. I've thought about this a hundred times, about what different things we could have done to survive without breaking what we stood for, and so far I haven't come up with anything. We... Grove Street stood firm against drugs, and it did so as it fell," M.J. whispered the last words, his eyes turning distant as he looked away from the rat.

Neither moved for a full minute, until M.J. slowly started walking again. They proceeded in silence for nearly twenty minutes, the rat continuing to point the way with his cane.

* * *

"Ever been inside a crack house?" M.J. suddenly asked.

"...No, I can't say that I have."

"Well, I have. More times then I wanna remember. It's the smell that always gets to me."

"I can imagine why."

"No, no, not that kind of smell. Well, yeah, sort of that kind of smell, but not quite. It's... when your standing in this big room, with a junkie in every corner that hasn't bathed or changed clothes in months, it has this... distinct kind of smell. At first it will feel like a total stench to you, and you just wanna either escape or puke your guts out, but if you manage to stick around long enough, you realize that what you're smelling is... hopelessness. Absolute, pure hopelessness. And once you smell it, your perspective on the world changes."

Splinter said nothing, for there was no appropriate response.

"Seeing someone addicted is tough," M.J. continued slowly, partly because it was difficult, and partly because he was forcing himself to say it, "but it's even harder when it's someone you know. It's like... I knew this guy, Big Bear we called him, 'cause the name fit. Real nice giant that was well known throughout Grove. He was a high up in one of the families, but he could always be found hanging out with the rest of us homies. He had a little brother who wasn't in the Grove. The kid wanted to be, but Big Bear said no and threatened a world of pain to anyone that would initiate him. Anyway, one night Big Bear was coming out of a local bar in our 'hood, and he got shot at. Heard it was someone that got roughed up by Big Bear a couple of years back and was looking for payback, I dunno the details. Big Bear didn't get a scratch, but... his kid brother was nearby, probably trying to get a sneak peek inside the bar, to see how gangsters drank and hung out. Poor kid must have rushed in, to try to protect his big brother like he had done for him. The kid got shot. Died instantly, right in front of Big Bear.

"Big Bear saw his pride and joy get killed just couple of feet away from him, and when his mom found out what happened, she... she disowned him. Said she had no more sons. Kicked him out her home. At the funeral he looked nothing like the guy I knew, like all that he had been was inside the coffin slowly being lowered into the earth.

"After the burial, Big Bear disappeared. No one could blame him, but after a week had passed without a word from him, some of us started to get worried. Two months later, all of us were looking for him. Then one day we heard a rumor about him being sighted on the other side of New York. Some of us went to investigate and asked around, looking for clues, and we ended up at this crack house. Now, none of us believed for a second that Big Bear was in there, since he was nearly the fiercest anti-drug Grover among us, but we went in 'cause we had no other clues. We searched top and bottom, asking anyone that wasn't brain-dead, but we got no results.

"We were about to leave when I passed by this room and spotted something in the corner. Looked like a junkie, but I recognized his jacket, which belonged to Big Bear. I was ready to tear that junkie into pieces if he wouldn't give me answers as to where he got that jacket. I remember looking at him pitifully, that carcass-looking nobody with his skin barely attached to his bones, when he opened his eyes and I realized with a shock that it was Big Bear. We hauled his ass out of that hellhole and to the nearest hospital, where he was placed in rehab. For almost a year he would bounce back and forth; whenever he would disappear we went looking for him and placed him back into the program, only to have him disappear a couple of weeks later."

Gently, Splinter asked, "What happened to him?"

"...Overdose. Three years ago. His mom didn't show up at the funeral."

Splinter offered a sympathetic look, but M.J. didn't notice, for he just stared straight ahead as they slowly walked.

"I once asked Big Bear why the hell he was doing this to himself. I can still remember when he looked at me, how... empty his eyes were. So lifeless. And he told me... he wanted to forget. Being a gangster is... it puts a lot of stress on the mind. Constantly on the alert, looking over your shoulder and wondering if that car up ahead was just looking for space to park, or was about to have its passengers shoot at you. And that's not counting what the gang expects of you. I think Big Bear's brother was... an anchor of some kind, something to keep him sane or a cause to fight for. He always intended his kid brother to move away, to go to college or sumthin'. Having that lifeline cut off so quickly and brutally... not even a fighter like Big Bear could handle it. And his own mom kicking him out only made it worse."

An odd silence stretched between the two. Splinter glanced up at M.J., who had a distant look on his face, his mind no doubt lingering in the past. As for the rat himself, his expression slowly changed as he thought hard, contemplating certain things.

Finally, he decided to ask, "And what of your parents, Mr. M.J.? What would they think of your... lifestyle?"

Splinter had been prepared for many reactions from the young gangster, an angry retort, total silence or even a breakdown. But instead, M.J. just shrugged carelessly. "Hell if I know. I'll be sure to ask them, though, when I find out who they are."

The rat blinked at the answer. "You... are an orphan?"

"I think I was around four, maybe five when I ended at Gideon's Children Home. The people wouldn't say what happened to my parents, if they died or just gave me up, weren't allowed until I was of legal age. But when they found out I had a gang tatt on me, they kicked me out."

"A house that was dedicated to provide shelter for orphaned children threw you out?" the rat asked in clear surprise.

M.J., however, remained unaffected. "Yeah, said I would be a bad influence on the rest of the kids. Can't really blame 'em, considering the kind of lifestyle that came with the tatt."

Splinter opened his mouth to say something, but slowly closed it again. Instead he paid closer attention to M.J., to how he carried himself and the way he walked. He replayed some of their talks in his head, paying particularly close attention to M.J.'s voice.

M.J. suddenly flinched and brought a hand to his eyes.

"Is something wrong, Mr. M.J.?"

"...Ah, it's my eyes. Been feeling like they're about to explode ever since I had that run-in with those ninjas back there."

The rat remembered all too clearly the young man's state just before the bomb had exploded. "Do you know what is wrong with you?"

"Hah! If I'd try to answer that one, Jerry Springer would shoot himself. No, I got no clue what the hell happened back there. I had a similar thing today at my place, though that was a mild annoyance compared to what it felt like this time," M.J. grumbled as the pain in his eyes slowly increased. It felt like someone was running around inside them with a razor blade. "It could be some kind of brain cancer." Saying that out loud made M.J pause, as his own words slowly sunk in. A deathlike smirk appeared on his lips as he mumbled to himself, "Heh, wouldn't that be something."

A concerned expression momentarily appeared on the rat's face, although before he could say anything, M.J.'s bloodshot eyes looked down at him. "Are were there yet?"

Splinter stared at M.J. for couple of seconds, his expression difficult to read. But then, slowly, he raised his cane and pointed. Following the indicated direction, M.J. saw a ladder a couple of feet away. Walking up to it, he gazed up to see how far it reached. Too busy looking, he didn't feel the rat letting go of him.

"It's a pretty long way up. How are you gonna climb up with your leg busted?"

Something small but heavy suddenly jumped on his back. M.J. cried out in surprise as he staggered back from the sudden weight, flapping his arms around to regain his balance. As his heart pumped big time, he felt something furry gently press against his left cheek. M.J. only saw a part of the rat's face, but he could have sworn he saw a smirk.

"...You're heavier than you look," M.J. grumbled, and started climbing up.


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHOR: Special thanks to Reinbeicher and Dierdre for beta-ing this chapter.

* * *

With some help from the rat, the manhole slowly opened and M.J. climbed up. Not even the freezing chill from his wet clothes dampened his relief of beeing on the surface once more, as the rat let go of his back and hobbled to the nearest bench. M.J. stretched a bit then looked around to see where they were. 

And froze to the core.

_...No...no, no, no, no, no, no...not here...of all the fucking places...anywhere but here._

They were in the middle of a cemetery.

But not just any cemetery. _The_ cemetery. Where _they_ were burried. In fact, he could see the all too familiar gate that lead to that special part of the cemetery. He could see some of _their _headstones.

**...M.J...**

Maybe it was just trick of the eyes, since it was night, but...

**...M.J...**

...he could swore he saw...shadows moving among the headstones...but...

**...you fucking bastard...**

...that couldn't be, it was just...they were all _dead_...

**...where the fuck were you...**

...but...that didn't stop them...

**...why aren't you burried here with us...**

...from coming after him...

_"M.J"_

"_M.J"_

"Mr. M.J.?"

The rat's voice snapped M.J.'s attention from the headstones and on to him, where he sat on a bench couple of feets away, "Y-yeah?" M.J. made a poor attempt to hide his...uneasiness, as his face was more whiter then usuall and almost glowed because of the sweat.

"Is...something wrong, Mr. M.J.?"

_My first instinct was to lie to him, but...I dunno. I had already told him enough sob stories, whats one more? He'll probably forget all about it by the end of this week._

"Nothing, just...I haven't been here for a while..." M.J. trailed off, while the rat's expression remained unchanged, probably waiting to hear more. "...its just that...over there is where..._we_...are burried."

An understanding flickered on the rat's face, "Ah, I see, Mr. M.J.. I aplogize for bringing you here, but this is the only safe place on the surface that was close enough for my sons to reach me," being reminded of those green guys almost made M.J. flinch as he quickly glanced around, somewhat expecting them to appear out of nowhere.

"Uh, y-yeah, whatever. Look, don't think I helped ya out 'cause the kindness of my heart, a'ight? I only did 'cause your boys knew I was with you an' if anything happened to you they'd come after me guns blazing, so..." the amused smile that appeared on the rat's face stated he didn't belive that excuse for a second.

_Godamnit, I knew I shouldn't have said it gangsta style._

"A-anyway, I gotta go. Think your, uh...sons will get here before someone else comes?"

"Why do you not ask them?" asked the rat and gestured somewhere on M.J.'s right. Turning, he saw the last thing he wanted to see.

"GAH!" Almost jumping out of skin, M.J. instead took a big jump backwards as he saw the three turtles standing on a spot they hadn't been on less then ten seconds ago. They held no weapons, though all three were tensed up, ready to act at the slightest provoke. No one moved, the turtles looked like missplaced statues, untill the one standing at the front slightly moved his head in the rat's direction.

"Master Splinter, are you alright?" M.J. recognised the voice as the jerk who yelled into that cellphone thingy.

_Which reminds me, my ear is still ringing..._

"Yes, Leonardo, I am alright," replied the old rat. Almost a full minute passed in totall silence after that, M.J. eyeing the turtles with a well concealed nervousness, while the other three kept their unerving gaze on him. When the rat realised no one was going to break the ice, he cleared his throat, "sons, I would like you to meet Mr. M.J.. Mr. M.J., allow me to introduce you to Leonardo," the rat waited two or three seconds for Leonardo to nod his head or something, but the grim looking leader remained motionless, "...Donatello," the one wearing the purple bandana slightly nodded, almost imposible to see in the dark, "and Michelangelo," orange bandana made a half-hearted wave, which made M.J. blink, "and I belive you have already met my somewhat impulsive son."

That made all three turtles look at their...father...with surprise on their faces, "what do you mean, sensei?"

_Oh hell, the rat wouldn't! The last thing I need right now is to be on the receiving end of a group beating!_

"Oh gee, look at the time! Its been great meetin' ya all and all that, that special tour in the sewers is a memory thats gonna stay, but Law & Order is gonna start soon, so, if I'll never see any of ya again, it'll be too soon. Bye!" With a quick turn, M.J. all but ran away from the weirdos. But he had only taken three or four steps when-

"YOU!.!.! I'M GONNA GET YOU DIS TIME!.!."

M.J. instandly recognised that voice and nearly soiled his underwear. Turning around in dread, he saw an all too familiar green nutcase coming from behind the three turtles, marching directly towards him. Well, hobbling was more like it, and when the red bandana passed by a lightpost, M.J. saw his right arm was in a sling. The sight was almost comical, if it weren't for the death glare aimed at M.J.

"Wha? Raph? The shell you doing here? I thought you went with Cas-OW!" Donatello elbowed Michelangelo hard for some reason, his head slighty nodded towards M.J., "...oh."

Raphael ignored them both, but as he was about to hobble passed Leonardo, the turtle stepped in his way, "Raph, what are you doing? You are in no condition to-"

"Back off, Leo! Dis one's personel," but Leo didn't step away. In fact, he looked like he was about to argue some more when a voice shouted in the distance.

"_Yo Raph! Wait up, bro!" _It came from the same direction that the pissed turtle came from.

_Oh God, please don't tell me there's another one!_

Appearandly, He was listening, for it was not a turtle that came running towards them, but that didn't stop M.J. from swearing to himself when he saw who it was.

_No fucking way, thats him!.!_

"Hey Cas-OW!" Another elbow shot, "Uh, I mean, Mr. Vigilante, what are you doing here?"

The Vigilante didn't answer right away, for he was too busy bending over, hands on his knees as he gasped for air after running. For some reason, the rat rested a paw on his head, silendly shaking it.

After taking couple of more long deep breaths, the Vigilante raised himself up and looked at Michelangelo, the mask bringing attention to his bright blue eyes, "Eh, why ye callin' me dat? Forgot my name or sumthin'?" Michelangelo replied by pointing a finger towards M.J., "...oh..."

_Is it me, or does his voice sound oddly familiar?_

"You an' me!.!. Right 'ere, right now!" Yelled Raphael as he pushed Leo asside and started hobbling towards M.J.. But Leo wasin't dismissed so easily and blocked Raphael's path again.

"Raph!.! Just what do your doing?.!. Master Splinter is here and is alright! We should leave before-"

"I ain't gonna beat that punk up 'cause of Splinter, Leo!.! I'm gonna beat that punk up for what he did to _me_!.!"

"Did to you? What do you..." Leo trailed off for a second, untill he made the connection. He turned around and looked at M.J. for couple of seconds, taking in his appearance, then back at Raph and jabbed a thumb towards M.J., "_He's_ the one that you told us about?.?.?" Judging by the disbelief in his voice, he found it extremely hard to belive it. So did the other two turtles.

_Okay, half expected to get beaten into a pulp when the truth came out. Wonder if I should feel releaved or insulted?_

"Grrr, he fought _dirty!_" growled Raph, obviosly wanting to get his hands on M.J.

Maybe it was because of the cold. Or the thought of how many germs were swimming around in his wet clothes. Or maybe it was because another sharp wave of pain came from his eyes.

Or maybe it was all of the above. Whatever it was, M.J.'s patience just snapped, since the turtle was acting if he had done some terribly crime against him.

"An' what the_ fuck_ do you expect!.?.!. I was getting my ass kicked by something that wasin't even human!.!" M.J. yelled back, making him feel slightly better. The three turtles appeared slightly surprised at his outburst, while Raph only got more angrier.

"You just get yer butt over 'ere an' I'll show ya da meanin' of gettin' yer ass kicked!.!"

"Bring it on, _Kermit_!.!" M.J. dared, taking steps towards Raph, his fear of the hot head no longer existed. Maybe the turtle saw that and got even more angrier of no longer being scary, or maybe it was his new nickname. Whatever it was, the turtle looked like he was about to foam at the mouth as he tried to charge at M.J. Tried, because Leonardo saw it coming and managed to hold him long enough for the Vigilante to restrain him from behind as Raph yelled curses.

"Yo, Raph, ya need to chill or yer gonna end up gettin' more hurt!"

"Let go of me, Casey! Dis is between him an' me!"

"You are in NO condition to fight, and-"

"Bite me, Leo!"

Soon, the Vigilante and the turtles were all yelling, most of the time at Raph, the rest at each other where they yelled that it was their turn to yell.

"Silence!"

Everybody fell silend at the rat's command, whose eyes were on M.J. The Vigilante and the turtles looked at him as well, where disbelieft was writen across his face, as he gazed on the Vigilante.

"...Casey?" He finally mumbled just loud enough for them to hear. The Vigilante flinched as all eyes turned on him.

"U-umm, w-who? I uh, d-don't know anyone named Casey Jones,"

"...bonehead," said Raph, as the rest of the turtles and the rat burried their heads in their hands/paws.

"...your wearing the same clothes, Casey." M.J. replied dryly, resisting the urge to kick the guy behind the hookey mask.

"Huh?" The Vigilante looked down at his clothes and, true to M.J.'s word, was wearing the same clothes he had been in when he _visited_ M.J. just hours ago, "Uh, w-well ah...dis 'ere is da latest style and ah, well..." finally, his shoulders slumpted in defeat and slowly removed his mask, revealing Casey Jones wearing a nervous smile, "Umm, h-hey M.J.. How, ah, hows it goin'?"

"Y-you know him?" Leo asked incredibly, while M.J. was quite...expresionless. Only blinked couple of times as the information slowly sank in.

"...Casey...fucking...Jones..." M.J. slowly said, as if his brain refused to accept what had just happened. Casey himself looked to be a bit embarresed himself, but before he or anyone else could say anything, M.J. brought a hand to his temple as a headech was slowly coming, "...screw this, I'm going to bed."

And with that, M.J. turned his back on four mutated turtles, a four feet tall talking rat and a loudmouthed nutcase who just got a whole lot weirder, even though it was supposed to have been statisticly imposible.

_Okay, I'm just gonna go home, take a shower, burn these clothes and then go to bed. And hopefully, when I wake up, I'll have forgotten everything that has happened today. Oh yeah, looking really forward to that._

"Mr. M.J.!" The rat called after him, and even though he loved nothing more then just give them the finger, some unknown force made him stop severel steps away from them, though he did not turn around.

"What?" He made sure he sounded like someone not in a talkative mood.

"Mr. M.J., I feel compelled to inform you that those ninjas you saw, belong to a lethal enemy, the Shredder. He is a dangerous foe, and is not short on hencmen or resources it would seem. By now, he has no doubt been informed of what transpired below us. I do not know what he will do, but should he belive you to be one of our allies, he will stop at nothing to have his vengeance on you."

"...tell him to take a number."

Without looking back, M.J. walked away.

"Wha-hey! Are we just gonna let him walk away! Just look what he did to me!" Yelled Raph, who got even more angrier at the lack of interest from the others in chasing the gangster, "Screw dis, I'll do it myself den."

"You will do no such thing," Splinter said sternly, halting Raph before he even moved.

"But...Master Splinter! He-"

"Has enough demons chasing him as it is. And at the moment, we have more serios matter at hand, namely where we should stay, since we can not risk returning to our home with all the Foot Ninjas in the sewers."

"Well...I have an idea!" Said Michalengalo most enthusiaticly.

* * *

For almost fifteen minutes the room had stayed in a tense silence, the only thing breaking it were the sparks coming from the torches on the walls. No one had dared to move or fidget from their kneeling positions, but finally, their master spoke, though they all quickly wished he had not. 

"Allow me to...understand this better," he slowly said in a dangerously calm voice, "after taking unacceptably long time in locating the turtles, and _not_ their home, they managed to thwart your attacks, untill when finally the fight was slowly going to yours, another one, a human _punk_, entered the fray and killed _three of you with a gun_?.!" Their master yelled the last words as his fist hit the desk in front of him, right next to M.J.'s shotgun. To the underlings' credits, they only flinched just a little.

"I belive I know who is responsible for this, master," spoke the kneeled figure at the front.

"Do enlighten me, Hun."

"The one who your ninjas descriped, fits the same one that has been killing my Purple Dragons for the past months now. We do not yet know his name, but his description has been passed to all my troops, along with a substantial reward for anyone who gets him. It is only a matter of time before we will find him," Hun's master was silend for a few seconds, though his angry frown remained.

"...do you know why he has been so...problematic?"

"I belive so. He seems to be the last of one of a gang we took care off last year, and seems to have started a crusade of his own. But he is alone, and his weapons are coming from somewhere. It is only a matter of time before he makes a mistake."

"Are you telling me that a _gangster_ killed three of my ninjas?" He asked again in that dangerously calm voice. Some of his underlings flinched again.

"...yes, master."

"He wouldn't happen to be the same one that killed that incompetend lieutentant of yours, just minutes away before you were suppose to arrive and do it yourself, thus making you loose face among your own troops?" He asked, sly amusement in his voice and expression. Hun's head sprang up, eyes wide.

"How did you-" Hun wisely closed his mouth and bowed his head once more, one of his hands formed a tight fist, "...yes, master."

"And now, thanks to your incompetence, your problem has costed _me_," again, Hun wisely choose to keep his mouth shut, and the room resumed in a thick silence, as their master picked up and examined the shotgun.

"...send this to our mole in the police departmend and have him examine this. We may yet learn the attacker's identidy."

"It will be done, master."

"I was not finished!" No response, "...then, when we know who it is, I want you to bring him to me."

Again, Hun raised his head with a surprised expression, but this time he choosed to speak against his master, "But master! This one has taken many of my troops and hindered profit! It is only right that we-"

"I could care less about your people! The ones he killed could not stop him, and thus were weak and he was doing you a favor by removing them!" Hun's master looked at him daringly to object again, but the giant lowered his head silendly.

He handed the weapon to a servant as he stood up, "This one has dared to attack me, and that will be his undoing. No one makes a mockery of Oroku Saki and lives to tell of it!"


	8. Chapter 8

AUTHOR: **IMPORTANT! **Okay, before reading the chapter below, I wish to say that... there's a scene in it that will look like M.J. has gained some super powers and has become a Gary Stu. I assure you, without wanting to spoil too much of the story but not wanting people to stop reading because they hate Gary Stus, these _powers_ of his are only temporary and that it will be logically explained in the next chapter how he could do these things.

Also, the scene I mentioned was inspired after reading a review by Conrack. I deeply apologize if you are offended, but I just had to write it after it appeared inside my head. I have no excuse. Hope you'll still like Redemption.

Okay, that's all. Oh yeah, special thanks to Reinbeauchaser and Dierdre for beta-ing this chapter. Those two chicks rock!

**WARNING: **Dark, blood, swearing.

T-M-N-T T-M-N-T

T-M-N-T T-M-N-T

_Two days later..._

Detective Soap finished his fourth cigarette and lit another, nervously looking around the parking garage where he stood. His right shoe impatiently tapped against the concrete floor as he glanced at his watch, his temples glowing with sweat despite the cool night air.

Suddenly, a large black truck appeared and slowly drove towards the fat detective. Soap flipped the cigarette away and then cursed, partially because of their late arrival, as well as for throwing away a newly lit cigarette. The truck's doors opened and Hun stepped out, sporting his trademark frown.

"Detective Soap," he said in a slightly polite tone, although his face suggested other emotions, "I was told you had something for me?"

"Oh, I got something alright!" shouted Detective Soap as he marched up to Hun, trying to look as imposing as possible, although the flopping of his belly ruined it. "I got the Chief right up my ass, demanding to know where the hell I got that damn shotgun! When you gave me that thing, you said _nothing_ about what kind of hell it would bring!"

"I could care less about your problems, Detective. Do you have something for me or not?"

"Yeah, I was given a... an item and was told to use my connections. I even know a guy over at forensics that owed me one, but what I thought would be a simple, quiet thing that would slide under the radar as usual, turns out to be this year's shit-bomb! I'm gonna lose my badge because of that damn thing! If this gets any uglier, I might even be looking at jail time!" the detective spat, while Hun's frown deepened.

"What are you talking about?" growled the giant.

"That damn gun killed a cop! Officer Jameson, nearly five months ago! A family man and well liked to boot! The investigation to find the son of a bitch responsible has been deader than Al Capone. Until now."

If the detective expected sympathy from Hun, he was barking up the wrong tree. "So the cops are hunting him down?"

"Well, there were two prints found, so I guess they'll give him the benefit of the doubt. But if he resists when they find him… well, let's just say that no one will be losing any sleep over it."

"So you just called me here to listen to your own troubles and self-pity, and not to tell me something that would make it worthwhile having you under our pay?"

Detective Soap blinked and looked like he was about to yell again, but a deep growl from Hun made him look like he had wet himself instead. Straightening his dirty jacket in an effort to compose himself, Soap spoke again, this time without the superior attitude, "...yeah, I got something. Like I said, there were two sets of prints on that damn thing. Ran a check on 'em, and it turns out last week one of 'em jumped out a window, the autopsy revealing a high level of drugs in his system. As for the other one, hell, even I think its weird he's in the system. Nearly six years ago he an' some of his _homies_ got picked up 'cause some nervous shopkeeper called the cops.

"The cops probably decided to give the kids a bit of a scare and ran them through the system, before releasing them the next day. Spoke to the Gang Unit before the shotgun's history was discovered, and it turns out the kid used to belong to some gang you guys wiped out last year or so. The real funny part in all this, hell, the only damn thing that's funny, is that those smartasses at the Gang Unit could only tell me one thing' bout that kid."

By now, Soap had a smug look on his face, as if thinking he actually knew something that Hun wanted to know and was savoring the moment. Or maybe the fat man was just so stupid he actually thought he had done a good job.

"The suspense is killing me, detective."

"M.J."

"...what?"

"That's what the kid went by. But they didn't know if that's the initials of his real name or a street name. He wasn't even a soldier, but just some driver. As for his rank, they speculated it was slightly below middle."

The detective went silent and for a while Hun waited, until an angry glint flared in his eyes. "That's _all_ you were able to find?"

"Of course not! I intended to dig around some more, but then some bitch at Forensics ran some tests on the damn thing, found out it killed a cop and the shit hit the fan! I was, however, able to come up with one name, supposedly some weapons dealer. They once monitored him, hoping to catch the guy, but wasted nearly two months for nothing. Either he's as clever as they come, or he's just small time. But his mechanic shop used to be in that kid's gang, so that would be the place where I'd look next." Detective Soap reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. Hun reached for it, but the detective quickly snatched it back.

"Not so fast, tough guy. I'm in a load of shit thanks to you. Sure, I've always escaped just under the radar, but now it looks like I've been hiding the gun that killed a cop, and it's only a matter of time before Internal Affairs starts snooping around. I want your boss to do something about this, or -"

"Or what?" Hun sneered, not worried in the least.

"...or things are gonna get ugly. See, I've also been collecting things over the years, stuff that's gonna cost you and your gang big time. Unless you get this heat off my ass, this city's police force will come down so hard on you, you'd think God himself just took a dump on you."

Hun's answer to the detective was a punch in the face.

* * *

_Four days later..._

The cold water continued poring out of the sink and onto his badly burned palm. It still throbbed in pain, still felt like it was on fire, but M.J. barely noticed. He just stood there next to the sink in the small restroom, his temple pressed against the cool mirror with his face covered in ash, his clothes stinking.

Another wave of pain radiated from his hand, and it felt like somebody was slowly tearing away what was left of the skin.

Again, M.J. barely noticed.

His mind was miles away, trying to comprehend what had just happened, and he found himself drifting back to a time a few hours previous.

* * *

_Three hours ago..._

M.J. groaned beneath the bed sheet as he slowly woke up again. He had been sleeping and waking up several times all day, although his eyes hurt less now. Somehow he knew he wouldn't be sleeping again for a while, so he groggily got to his feet, almost losing his balance as he walked out of his bedroom.

The entire apartment was pitch-black. All the lights were off and drapes covered the windows, where not a ray of sunlight managed to penetrate. Not really thinking, M.J. walked up to one of the drapes, pulling it away so the-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" M.J. howled in agony, feeling like someone had just rammed a blowtorch into his eyes. He dropped down to the floor, covering his eyes with one hand, while the other clumsily pulled the drapes back, blocking the sun's light. He then just lay on the floor, waiting for the pain to go away.

_Oh man... the hell just happened?_

Slowly, M.J. got back to his feet and wobbly made his way towards the bathroom. He almost turned on the lights by reflex, but stopped himself at the last moment. Standing in front of the sink with his head bowed, he took a few deep breaths, looked up and-

"FUCK!"

And screamed in total shock.

He jumped away from the mirror, nearly falling back on the floor as his heart raced inside his chest. After a couple of minutes, he finally dared to step closer to the mirror, utterly failing to comprehend what the hell he was seeing in his own reflection.

_...m-my eyes, t-they're... blue... they're... glowing fucking blue..._

Indeed, that was what M.J. was seeing. His eyes, which used to be green, were now nearly glowing bright blue.

_Oh man, what... what... the hell is, I mean, what... wh-what is wh-wh-what's, what's going on? _

M.J. breathed heavily, finally looking away from his reflection. A couple of seconds later he looked again. His eyes were still glowing blue.

_This... this just... just shouldn't be happening! It's not supposed to! It can't! _

Panic gripped him. Was this it? Had he finally lost it? He knew it was only a matter of time before he lost one of the two, his life or his mind. From the looks of things, it was the latter.

As M.J. stood there, breathing hard, he finally noticed how heavy the air was in his apartment.

_I...I gotta get outta here. Need fresh air to clear my... head..._

The irony was not lost on him.

* * *

Dressed in his old sneakers, dark-blue pants, a brown shirt with his favorite gray jacket, and a pair of sunglasses that had seen better days, M.J. locked his apartment doors and headed towards the stairs. Halfway there, however, M.J. suddenly paused and looked back towards his doors.

_...wait a minute... it was totally dark in there, and yet... I could still somehow... _see_ my room as if the lights were on?_

_...nah, I must be remembering it wrongly..._

Shrugging, M.J. headed towards the stairs.

* * *

_Franco's Diner, one hour later..._

"Hey, M.J., the usual?" M.J.'s response was a wide yawn. "Okay, number twelve with a double espresso it is." With a smile, an old lady in her late fifties with a nametag saying _Kate _wrote down the order and then went off towards the kitchen.

Franco's Diner looked like one of those places you'd see in _That 70's Show. _It had opened nearly twenty years ago, and the only times it got real busy was during the lunch and dinner hours. The time was now 4:56PM, the last rush hour gone, and less than a handful of customers still remained inside.

M.J. brought a hand to his sunglasses to take them off, but remembered at the last second why he was wearing them in the first place. At that moment his imagination decided to take over, and a thought suddenly came that made him wonder if the...condition of his eyes could be seen through the sunglasses. What if some religious nutcase saw his eyes glow, grabbed his bible, and started chanting some prayers in Latin while tossing holy water at him? And what if half of the Purple Dragon gang just happened to pass by, hear the noise and decide to enter the place to investigate, followed by a certain angry mutated red-bandana wearing turtle, this time holding a rusty chain saw in each hand, screaming for blood and revenge?

_Y-yeah, w-well let 'em come! I'm ready for..._

His heart skipped a beat when M.J. realized he had _forgotten_ to grab a gun when he left his apartment. It was the first time in nearly seven months that he was outside and unarmed, and the realization left him feeling oddly...naked.

_Great, things just keep getting better and better._

Kate came back with the espresso, and M.J. gave her a polite smile. "Can I have today's newspaper, please?"

"Sure thing," Kate replied, apparently awfully cheerful today, and fetched the paper. "Here you go, hon. Enjoy."

"Thanks," The front page held nothing unusual, although a small article in the corner caught his eyes. Some Senator had been whining about how much violence cartoons had these days. He went on and on about what kind of effect it would have on kids to see such cartoon shows right after playing equally violent video games, and that those two combined was one of the main reasons why kids acted aggressively and started getting their hands on guns and shit.

_Hey, if you wanna stop the death toll in this country, take on the NRA, you weak bastard. _

Still engrossed in his thoughts, M.J.'s eyes fell upon the date of the paper, and in less than an hour he was rewarded with a third shock.

"What the?" he gasped out loud, making most of the customers look at him curiously. M.J. was too shocked to notice, however.

_T-that can't be... no way it's the twenty-sixth today. _M.J. looked at his watch, only to confirm that it was indeed the twenty-sixth. _Then... I've been lying in bed for almost a week! That... that just can't be! I... what the hell is happening to me..._

When Kate brought his order a few minutes later, he had lost his appetite.

* * *

With the sun slowly setting and the coldness of night coming early, M.J. zipped up his jacket as he made his way towards the nearest subway entrance. But just as he reached the street corner and caught sight of his destination, something occurred to him.

_Oh, hell, wait a minute. The last time I used one of these I ended up in the sewers with the Dragons hot on my tail. For all I know, they're now keeping an eye on trains all across the city. …Well, okay, maybe not the entire city, but definitely on trains that are going in the general direction of the one I was on. And it's nearly a three hour walk to Emet's place, so..._

M.J. spotted a cab.

_Aw, hell, why not? Was bound to happen sooner or later._

After getting the driver's attention and climbing in, the cab drove off. Mere seconds later, a police car appeared at the other end of the street. It stopped in front of _Franco's Diner,_ and two police officers walked in.

* * *

_Fifty minutes later..._

"Chicken-shit," M.J. mumbled as the cabby drove away.

_Just because this 'hood has a bit of a rep about gangsters ruling it, doesn't give you the right to drop yer passengers off several blocks away from where they wanna go. Idiot._

Cursing some more under his breath, M.J. started walking towards Emet's garage.

_Okay, Emet is gonna want to know why I'm wearing these damn sunglasses, so what the hell am I supposed to do? Just show him and hope he won't freak out and think I'm some kind of alien that's possessed M.J.'s body? Sure, Emet's an okay guy, for a mechanic who sells weapons as a side job, but he believes in all that conspiracy crap. __The crazy stuff about Elvis being an alien who went home; Area 51; Kennedy's assassination preventing him from revealing the Illuninati's esitence to the world; government agencies building secret bases under the Hudson River blah, blah, blah..._

_Still, this is Emet, and it's always been nearly impossible to keep a secret from that guy. I also owe him a lot. After I got kicked out of the orphanage, he let me stay in his shop until I got my own small apartment in Grove's turf, he taught me how to drive, taught me how to take care of Leatherhead right after he hatched, and any one of a dozen other things. _

_Still, showing up with glowing eyes is gonna be... tough to explain to the old geezer, especially since I ain't got no clue what the hell is happening to me, either. _

_Maybe I could-_

When M.J. stepped around the corner, the sight he saw made him freeze.

Just across the street was Emet's garage, and nearly half the place had been swallowed in fire. The flame was slowly making its way to the rest of the building, and its glow illuminated the street, yet there were no sounds of sirens, and no one was around save for M.J.

The brittle sound of breaking glass snapped M.J. from his frozen state. "E... EMET!"

M.J. charged towards the burning building. The front of the shop was where the fire was most fierce, so he quickly ran behind it, heading for the backdoor. Black smoke was billowing through a broken window next to the door, so M.J. used his right hand to pull his shirt up over his mouth, while his left reached out and gripped the door's handle tightly.

He didn't remember falling down, but all of a sudden he was on his back, seeing black smoke cloud the stars and listening to the sound of something howling. His throat hurt terribly for some reason, and it was long moment before he realized it was because _he_ was the one who was howling. Howling in pain, although he didn't know why.

He had his right hand clutched tightly around his left wrist, and when he looked down, he suddenly understood… and wished he hadn't looked. Smoke was trickling from the palm of his left hand, burned skin slowly melting away to reveal cooked meat and veins, with a bit of bone.

M.J. realized he was still screaming, but didn't try to stop himself. His eyes went to the door's handle and saw it was glowing red-hot. Through the pain that rippled from his hand to the rest of his body, he dimly remembered seeing the handle before grabbing it, and a small thought that had assumed the handle's red color was just a reflection of the fire. Only now did he realize there was no fire here, only black smoke.

Blinking, he suddenly realized he was back on his feet and charging towards the door. The door was made out of metal, but the locks were showing signs of rust, and so it broke easily under M.J.'s charge. He landed heavily on the floor as a wave of smoke hurled through the new opening, and an instant later the door itself broke off its hinges and landed next to M.J. As he stood up, he glanced at it and saw that one of Emet's tools had been placed on the inside handle. He couldn't remember what the tool's name was, only that it was used to heat up metal to the point it could be bent. Someone had placed it there on purpose.

He didn't have any more time to dwell on such things, for the fire was slowly spreading everywhere. Smoke was filling up the room, and he had enough sense left in him to bend his knees as he walked, in an effort to reach clearer air.

Did he just yell for Emet, or was he still screaming? The pain in his left hand was immense, and it somehow affected his hearing, making it difficult to listen. It didn't seem to affect his eyes, however, for he saw more clearly than ever before in his life.

There on the floor, almost surrounded by flames, was Emet. He wasn't moving, but M.J. didn't take the time to yell his name or check for a heartbeat. He simply grabbed Emet's arms and dragged him outside.

His hand felt like it was on fire, as did his throat, and the pain made his voice raspy as he wheezed, "..._Emet_..."

M.J.'s eyes watered and his vision blurred as he got a closer look at him. The man's right eye was swollen shut, his nose looked broken, his clothes were torn and bloody, and around his neck was Stone's Purple Dragon amulet.

A pained grunt came from Emet's throat as his left eye slowly opened and rested on M.J. "...M.J... I feel like shit..." he whispered, coughing up blood.

"H-hey, d-don't you die on me, old man! Y-you're gonna be okay! You made it through 'nam, damnit, you can live through this!"

"...that... was my brother, you moron. How the hell do you think I started... the gun business?"

His voice trailed off as he descended into another coughing fit. M.J. tried to say something comforting, opening and closing his mouth, but words had failed him. Emet was in bad shape, and he didn't know what to do. His mind almost refused to accept that this was really happening, and seemed to cling to the hope that it was all just a bad dream.

But this was really happening. This was reality, and to many, reality was a total nightmare.

Emet coughed again, raggedly this time, as more blood frothed his lips. "G-goddamnit, kid... d-don't let... o-other people drown because of your hatred..."

With those enigmatic words, Emit took a deep breath and slowly let it out. His eyes slid half shut, as if he was about to take a nap.

"…E-Emet? ..._EMET!"_

It was no use. The life had left his eyes, and he was dead. M.J. had seen it enough times to know.

Too many damn times.

* * *

It was hard to think. His mind felt so... blurry.

He vaguely recalled leaving the restaurant after wrapping his burned hand with toilet paper. He had probably earned some odd stares as he left, and no doubt many thought he had been doing something else in there other than taking a piss.

Now he was walking down the dark streets of New York, and yet he didn't feel like he was actually doing so. It was more like... he was lying on a sofa and watching TV of someone else walking. He saw the familiar movement, and yet it didn't feel like it was him.

What he did feel was rage. Or at least, it was something similar to rage. The emotion he was feeling now was... cold. Not boiling hot like he was familiar with, but mind-numbingly cold. So cold, in fact, that he felt a shadowy sense of surprise he was able to move at all.

His legs didn't respond to him, but he nevertheless knew where they were headed. To his apartment, where his undamaged hand would get what little remained of M.J.'s arsenal, and where his legs would then walk towards the heart of the Purple Dragon's turf.

He knew that the Dragons expected his arrival. The place would be packed with every member the gang had, and they all would be waiting for him.

He was going to take them all out. Every last one of them.

The awareness of that triggered nothing. No dread. No shame. No guilt. No satisfaction.

Nothing.

Nothing but coldness.

_Is this it? Is this what happens when a human has lost every piece of his soul, every last shred of humanity? Is it all replaced by this... coldness? Coldness that freezes everything inside, makes it difficult to even form a coherent thought, and forces the body to be driven by a primal urge to kill? _

_Emet was one of the few people who actually gave a damn about me. Never thought of him as a father, never even came close to that, but he was... someone who just... had always been there for me..._

_And now he is dead._

_Dead like all the rest, taken by the Purple Dragons. But in this case, the blame lies on me and me alone. I was so caught up in my own self-pity, so hoping to die by another's hands, that I never thought someone else would pay. Well, now it's happened._

_...I once heard that a man who has nothing to lose is more dangerous than a cornered, wounded animal. _

_I'm about to test that theory._

M.J. was now on the street where his apartment building resided. He walked up to the door, searched his pockets for the key, found it, pulled it out, inserted it into the lock and-

"Hands up!"

M.J. turned around, mildly surprised, and blinked when he saw three police officers aiming their guns at him. The one in the lead said something, but M.J. didn't listen, too busy wondering if the men were just figments of his imagination. The officer scowled at his lack of response, stepped forward and forcibly pushed M.J. around, slamming him against the door and beginning to search him.

The policemen were definitely real.

Beneath the cold inside him, an emotion of surprise and wonder stirred.

_So I guess I was wrong when I thought the police weren't interested in some gangsters getting killed more than usual. Then again, the last time we spoke, Emet did say elections were next year._

_...Emet..._

Behind M.J., the police officer continued searching him, while one of the other two spoke on the radio.

_No... It sure as hell ain't gonna end like this. I ain't gonna go to jail and end up being someone's bitch before the Dragons send someone to slit my throat in my sleep. I planned on taking them all out tonight, and I'm gonna stick to that plan._

_No matter what._

The first time he had experienced it, it had been in his apartment as Casey was about to punch him. What triggered that had been anger.

The second time had been in the sewers, when one of those gray pajamas was about to cut his head off. That one had been activated by instinct.

Now it was triggered by pain. Only this time, it was done willingly.

The officer had finished searching M.J. and was reaching for his cuffs, when all of a sudden M.J. used the door he had been pressed against as leverage to hurl himself into the police officer. His left elbow rose up and hit the man's nose, and the force of it made the officer practically fly backwards, smashing into the man on the right.

M.J. bent his knees and turned to remaining man on the left, who had surprise written all over his face as he watched his compatriots collapse to the floor. When he turned back to focus on M.J., however, he had already leapt at the police officer. His left arm slammed into the side of the officer's arms, causing the gun to point somewhere else as it discharged, and his right hand curled into a fist an instant before he drove it into the man's groin.

As the policeman doubled over in pain and fell to the ground, M.J. glanced at the other two officers. The one with the broken nose was lying on top of the other, who was busily pushing him off while freeing his gun arm, his face twisted into an expression of bloody murder. Just as his arm was freed, M.J. leapt at him and kicked him in the head, blood spraying over broken skin as he fell unconscious on the ground.

A thought in the back of M.J.'s mind told him the _moment_ had passed, and that he had to get away before the pain would-

"_Don't move, asshole!"_

Turning, he saw a fourth police officer across the street, whom had his gun aimed at M.J.

M.J. charged.

The police officer fired, and M.J. felt it activate again, this time by a mixture of pain and instinct.

It was almost like ice-skating on moving water, he realized. To have a vast emptiness beneath his feet, but instead of plunging into it and drowning in panic, he simply skated across the surface, almost gracefully avoiding changes in the waves that tried to plunge him into certain death.

Twisting his upper body to the right, he felt the bullet whiz by where his head had been an instant before, and he was halfway across the street when the police officer fired a second shot. He bent forward, the bullet almost caressing his back as it flew by.

He was almost on top of him when the officer fired a third shot, and this time he either couldn't or didn't dodge. The bullet went through his left shoulder in a bright spray of blood, but that didn't stop him from jumping up and kicking the officer in the chest with both feet, causing him to fly into the sale windows behind him.

M.J. landed hard on his back, but quickly regained his footing. Looking behind him, it seemed that none of the three downed police officers would be getting up any time soon. The shots had apparently drawn some attention, however, for people were peeking through doors and windows, while some brave/stupid souls actually went outside. M.J. needed to get out of here before more-

On the other side of the street, four police cars swerved into view, sirens blazing as a police helicopter flew above. Going that way was out of the question, so M.J. turned in the opposite direction, running into middle of the street…

And right into incoming traffic.

Cars careened out of the way, all honking like mad as M.J. jumped left and right to dodge the vehicles. One car turned into his path, but he managed to roll across the hood, almost losing his footing when he got back on the street. He kept on running, however, and an instant later a large truck honked, its big tires burning rubber as the driver hit the brakes. Just as it looked like it would slam into M.J., he threw himself to the ground, hugging the asphalt as the truck passed by over him. A second later, M.J. flipped back to his feet and resumed running like hell.

More sounds of crashes came from behind him, and it seemed like the police cars weren't able to follow him. But up ahead, two more police cars suddenly appeared, blocking the street.

M.J. didn't stop. As the officers inside started getting out of their cars, M.J. jumped onto the hood of one of the automobiles, vaulted to the roof and then… leapt.

What came next might have been sheer luck, or a second chance sent by God Himself, but at that precise moment a truck drove by, and M.J. landed on the roof. He almost fell off the edge, but managed to grab hold at the last second and steady himself. He glanced back at the cops, who just stood there and stared. For some reason, one of them seemed to be laughing.

Turning back to see what was ahead of him, M.J. momentarily froze. The truck was about to drive under a low-hanging bridge. So low, in fact, that even if M.J. flattened himself against the truck's roof, he would still get hit. The distance to impact was just a couple of feet away and rapidly coming closer.

With no other choice remaining, M.J. once again curled his legs beneath him and leapt.

The jump must have been twelve to thirteen feet high, but it was just enough to land on top of the bridge. M.J. stumbled forward, breathing hard and yet somehow still alive.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK

At that moment, M.J. realized four things.

One, this was no bridge for cars.

Two, it was for trains.

Three, a train was coming his way.

And four, he didn't have enough space to jump right or left to avoid it.

So he vaulted upwards, for the second time in less than five seconds. He managed to pull his knees up to his chest just as the train passed by below him, and for an honest second he thought he would just stay there, hanging in midair until it roared out of sight.

A second after that he landed on the train. The powerful vehicle was not moving at full speed, having just made a turn before crossing M.J.'s path, but he still slipped and nearly rolled off the roof. Through another act of serendipity, his right hand found a small maintenance handle to grab, which he then clung to for dear life as the train increased its speed.

Below, the police officers still had their mouths open, awestruck and incredulous of what they had just seen.

"...did... did he just..."

"Yeah... and I still don't believe it."


	9. Chapter 9

**AUTHOR: Special thanks to Reinbeicher and Dierdre for being the beta-readers of this chapter.**

**On a side note, I've just found this awesome cool game called Advent Rising, a Sci-fi/third person shooter. The storyline, the characters, the world, the music is all AWESOME! Of course, the game has a few bugs in it and its graphic is…almost out-dated. But trust me, Advent Rising, which is suppose to be a part of a trilogy, once you start playing you'll see pass that. Just be sure to buy the PC version of it.**

**But, before showing you all what I wrote for this chapter, I feel obligated to tell you that at the moment, the trilogy seems to be on…uncertain terms. The company that gaved it out seems to be going through some financial issues and the guys behind the idea of the trilogy have left they're company and are working on something else. Maybe they will return back to the trilogy, maybe they're just getting more money so they can continue it. I don't know. Like I said, its all looking very uncertain.**

**I love Advent Rising.**

T-M-N-T T-M-N-T T-M-N-T

T-M-N-T T-M-N-T T-M-N-T

It was coming. He could feel it.

But if it came now, while he still clung for dear life on the train, he would fall off. He just knew it. He needed to stall for just a little while longer, until the train slowed down to make a turn. As for how to stall it... he had a small theory. Time to see if it was true.

His right hand gripped harder on the handle, and he closed his eyes to prepare himself.

Then he tried to make his left hand curl into a fist. The best he got was a slight twist of his fingers, but it was enough to create a pain as if it were burning again.

M.J. almost blacked out, but managed to stay conscious through sheer force of will. It had worked. The pain stalled the seizure, or whatever it was, but it only stalled, not stopped it.Through the chaos of his mind, he could almost picture it; a dam made of pain, but already the water was slowly rising, and it would only be a matter of time before it overflowed.

The harsh wind that blowing into his face relented slightly, and he could feel the train gradually slow down. Opening his eyes, he saw a turn up ahead. Now was the chance. The area on his left only offered a plunge down to the street, but on his right there appeared to be some kind of a construction zone. Taking a deep breath, M.J. got to his knees and crouched, then let go of the handle and jumped off.

Just as it looked like he would land on a stack of boxes, his shoe tangled in the fence. He pivoted abruptly and slammed into it, and then crumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes. His vision obstructed by a red haze, he got to his feet and staggered slowly like a drunk towards one of the houses under construction. Stumbling inside, he found a small box that had been placed against the wall. He collapsed heavily atop it, breathing like he had been running away from the train instead of riding on it.

The dam flooded.

* * *

"Mr. Mortu! We have a signal!" 

"Let me see," Mr. Mortu said calmly as he leaned closer to the computer screen. He nodded to himself as he saw the young man's location, but when the data started flooding in, he grimaced. "There are times when I wish I was wrong."

"Sir?"

"See these readings? They are the result of nano-probes being placed in the wrong places _and _sending the wrong commands and information to each other. They are not correctly aligned with each other and...are doing more harm than good. What's more, it looks like he has somehow activated more of the nano-probes. Whether this was intentional or not, I do not know. We need to bring this under control." Mr. Mortu pressed one of the buttons and leaned closer to the controls. "Guardian, we have found him. I am transmitting his location. Find him and bring him here as fast as you can."

"_It shall be done, Mr. Mortu."_

"There is a matter of urgency in this, Guardian. If my calculations are correct," Mr. Mortu suddenly stopped and looked around, as if searching for someone, and then turned back to the controls, "...each time the probes are activated, it is creating a backlash that is even stronger than the one before. This is the third time it has happened, and there's a good chance his heart may not be able to handle another recurrence."

"_...I understand, Mr. Mortu. I shall find him as quickly as possible. Guardian out."_

Mr. Mortu raised himself up, and then turned to his assistant. "Has anyone seen Leatherhead?"

* * *

Deep in the sewers, Leatherhead used his laptop to check a map of the surrounding tunnels, in order to find the quickest route to where _he_ was. 

Memorizing the way, he then jumped into the sewer water and swam as fast as he could.

* * *

_Oh, hell, I'm not passing out._

M.J. fell to the dusty ground, blood pouring from his nose and wide eyes as he shook violently.

_Can't even close my eyes. Feels like they're being held open by rusty chains._

Through his open mouth came something that resembled a pained moan as his trembling hands moved instinctively to his now shaking legs.

_Oh Jesus, oh fuck, feels like the meat is being ripped off, glued back on and then ripped off again. What the fuck is-_

His left shoulder was unexpectedly jolted with a wave of pain. M.J. didn't know why, yet he had a vague memory flash of a police officer shooting at him.

Every nerve in his body felt like it had a will on of its own, each one twisting painfully as something that felt like explosions erupted beneath his chest. It was his heart, beating so hard it was as if it couldn't take the pain and wanted to get out.

And then it was over.

He didn't know when it had stopped, nor for how long it had been going on. It might have been an hour, a day or a minute, but he was suddenly aware that his body had stopped rebelling against him. When it felt like he could move again, he slowly crawled back to the box and shakily sat on it, taking deep breaths.

M.J. suddenly started, his spine snapping straight as he confusedly blinked his aching eyes. He must have dozed off. For how long, he didn't know, but it was still dark outside so it couldn't have been much. Probably ten to twenty minutes. He closed his eyes again, planning on resting for just five more minutes before moving on.

He heard the faint sound of something leathery rasping against concrete and his nose suddenly picked up a distinctive smell, sharp and somewhat musky, yet oddly familiar.Opening his eyes, they drifted towards the nearest door, and M.J. was greeted by a vision of a towering figure emerging from the shadows, the faint light from outside flickering off its sharp teeth and yellow eyes.

A crocodile over seven feet tall _and_ standing on two feet.

Wearing a purple belt.

M.J. blinked.

The giant crocodile was still there.

M.J. blinked again.

The giant crocodile was still there.

M.J. blinked again.

The giant crocodile was still there, but for some unexplainable reason, M.J. could see that he seemed uncomfortable, even nervous, although by all rights it should have been the other way around.

M.J. opened his mouth. Whether it was to say something, curse or scream, even he forgot why, for M.J. suddenly felt a dawning sense of recognition.

"...you..." he breathed, almost whispering, "...I ...I know you..."

The memory came out of nowhere, and yet it felt like it had always been there, hidden in the depths of his mind. Thankfully, it didn't cause physical pain.

* * *

_Seven months ago..._

In one of New York's derelict warehouse districts, several shots were fired. A few seconds later, a young man in his early twenties ran out of a warehouse, an old gun in his hand and a terrified expression on his face. Hot on his heels were eight Purple Dragons, seven of them packing heat. They yelled something as they fired at the man, but were too angry to aim properly.

The man, dressed in green gang colors, had a head start, and the fear mixed with adrenalin gave him a boost of speed. That alone wouldn't last long, and the blood loss was only burning it up more quickly.

Taking a sharp turn to the left, he almost fell down a half-opened manhole. Without thinking, he started climbing down, almost losing his grip in his haste. The stench was almost unbearable, making his eyes tear as he ran through the brown sewer water. At the end of the tunnel was a large area, with big pipes in the walls and ceiling, and a small platform at the center with some valves and controls. A waste control facility of some kind.

The only exit was the way he had entered.

Voices from behind made him run towards one of the walls, where he hid behind a large pipe. Breathing hard, only now did he see the four gunshot wounds in his chest. A slight gasp escaped his lips, and his hands scrabbled at his chest, trying to decide whether they should press at the wounds or leave them alone.

"The fucker went through here, he must have!"

He pressed himself harder behind the pipe as the Purple Dragons waded through the water, gradually spreading out as they searched. His grip on the outdated gun tightened as one of them slowly made his way towards his hiding spot. He didn't even dare to breathe as he tried to remember how many times he had fired back in that warehouse, if the gun was out of bullets or how many were left.

The Dragon was almost upon him. He took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to cough up blood, determined to take out at least one more of them before they got him.

A huge splash and an animal roar that shook the walls erupted from the center of the room. The echo was so loud that his ears range and, as it slowly subsided, he could hear screams of fright and the sound of gunshots. Over the tumult, he could barely hear a yell of "Let's get the hell outta here!" followed by smaller splashes of water that slowly faded away.

The only sound left was of something big taking deep, slow breaths. Without thinking, he cautiously stepped away from his hiding spot.

And that's when he saw it.

It was at the entrance, it's back facing him, breathing like it had run for miles. It was huge, probably over seven feet tall, and heavily muscled. It didn't have skin or fur, but light brown scales that contained the slightest hint of yellow, with a tail that swished back and forth in an almost irritating fashion.

Maybe he had made some sort of noise, or maybe it had smelled his blood. Whatever the reason, the thing suddenly spun around and growled; its piss-yellow eyes filled with primal rage and hatred, all directed at him.

Somewhere at the back of his petrified brain, he was surprised to see that the thing was a crocodile, walking on two legs and wearing a purple belt.

And, before he could wonder why a crocodile would be wearing a belt in the first place, it charged at him.

It was fast, impossibly fast given its size. It was almost upon him when it unleashed another roar, and the terrifying sound snapped him from his frozen state. He clumsily brought up his gun to shoot it, but the thing simply slapped his hand away, the gun flying between two pipes in the wall. He opened his mouth to cry out in pain, feeling like his wrist had snapped, but it charged at him again. Its big, meaty hands enveloped his arms in a tight, painful grip as it slammed him against the wall.

His head smacked hard against the concrete, and his vision darkened. As his sight slowly faded into nothingness, he looked up at the creature, which was more than head and shoulders taller than he was. Fury was still brimming in its merciless eyes.

The last thing he saw before passing out was its jaws opening wide, drool dribbling from between its sharp teeth. It was about to swallow him whole.

* * *

"...I …I thought I had dreamt that..." M.J. whispered to himself. He slowly rubbed at his temple, an almost distant look in his eyes. "...I mean... that... creature... I've been having nightmares about it for months, but I always thought it was... I mean, that it was just something in my head, or..." 

_Guilt given form? A demon that would take me to Hell when I died, where it would toy with me until the end of all things? _

And yet, despite the new memory and the fact that the very same crocodile was now standing only a few feet away, M.J. wasn't afraid. He didn't even feel intimidated. He should have, he had every right to be, and yet he just...wasn't. It was the... aura around the croc, his stance and total lack of animal fury. His eyes were now almost... human.

_...and why am I thinking of him as a he?_

"N-no doubt you have many questions..." the croc hesitantly said, his voice deep and yet ridiculously gentle given his size.

M.J.'s eyebrows shot all the way up to his hairline. "...yeah, I do..."

_After bumping into four mutated talking turtles and a four-foot tall cane-swinging rat, the list of surprises gets drastically cut._

Before the big croc could do or say anything else, M.J. suddenly blinked in remembrance and looked down at his chest, his right hand pressing against it. "T-those spots, they're... from bullet wounds. I... I was... shot."

It was then that he finally noticed the blood stains on his left shoulder.

"Oh, _shit_! I've been shot!"

His right hand instinctively reached for his shoulder, but stopped before it could touch. M.J. blinked repeatedly, trying to remember when he had been shot, and his breathing slowly increased as shock began entering his system. The croc took a step forward, about to say something, but M.J.'s eyes looked sharply at him when he spotted the movement. It was probably just instinct on M.J.'s part, but a hurt expression passed over the croc's face before he carefully took a step backwards.

"It does not look mortal," a voice calmly said, as a figure tranquilly walked out of the shadows from the far left of the room, "although it should be treated quickly, in order to avoid any infection."

_What the..._

The guy looked to be in his late thirties, wearing a buttoned-up grey trench coat that concealed whatever he was wearing underneath. His eyes were obscured by a pair of sunglasses, and a thin gold necklace was looped around his neck, its pendant hidden beneath the coat. His most distinguishing feature, however, was his shock of dark blue hair, tied up in a severe ponytail.

Unnoticed by M.J., the big croc's expression had changed into one of guilty surprise, like he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Who the hell are you?" asked M.J., his gunshot wound momentarily forgotten.

"The answer to that would take too long, and time is not on our side. Suffice it to say, I am merely a guardian, and fate has decreed that you are to be an innocent bystander, caught in the middle of a struggle that has lasted for almost a millennia."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"What the fuck are you on?"

The corner of the weirdo's mouth curved slightly upward, but a second later his calm demeanor had returned. "No doubt the same thing you yourself are on," he replied, calmly removing his sunglasses.

At that moment, M.J. understood the concept of having your breath stick in your throat.

"Y-your eyes! Th-they're-they're-"

"Like yours," the guardian replied, his calmness reflected in his bright blue, _glowing_ eyes.

"But... but..." M.J. looked back and forth between the man and the croc, his mind trying to wrestle with this new development. When he saw the guilt on the croc's face, however, it all clicked into place. "...you know what is... happening to me. The eyes, the... the blackouts, the pain and... o-other stuff. You... you did something to me."

His body tensed up as he spoke those words, ready to act at the slightest provocation, and his reaction seemed to strike the big croc like a physical blow. "P-please understand that I never meant you any ill! The nano-probes were meant to heal your wounds, nothing more! I didn't-" The croc stopped abruptly as the guardian gave him a look, and he realized at the same moment that he might have said too much.

"Woah, wait a minute. Did you just say _nan- probes_? Is that what's causing all this... this... nasty shit to happen to me?" M.J. glanced back and forth between the croc and the man, until the man slowly nodded.

"...yes, that is what has happened to you. I have taken an oath to not reveal any information regarding my masters, but I am allowed to tell you this: Either the nano-probes are activating by themselves or you have unknowingly found a way. We have been examining the data sent to us each time they are activated, and I have been told that should it happen again, you will die."

A gasp escaped from the croc, while M.J. didn't so much as blink.

_I dunno why, but somehow I suspected it._

"And you are here to...?"

"Take you to my masters, where they hope to prevent your death."

_Now isn't that nice of them._

"How?"

"They hope there is still time to remove the nano probes from your body."

_Remove? Aw, crap._

"...when you say remove..."

The guy put his sunglasses back on, and a serious frown appeared on his face. "I can understand your reluctance, since this no doubt is a lot for you to take in, but I give you my word of honor that you will not be harmed by my masters. Above all else, they respect life more than anything. You will be safe with us, this I promise you."

_Okay, this guy is offering to take me to his masters, who apparently can fix... whatever it is that's happening to me, my left hand is completely useless and starting to smell funny, the police have taken a sudden interest in me and... there's a giant crocodile standing in the same room with me._

"...doesn't sound like I've got much of a choice," M.J. said, watching the guy carefully for any subtle reactions to his words, but he gave nothing away but a nod.

"I shall meet you there," the big croc quickly said. He left the room in a hurry, as if to avoid getting scolded or something.

As M.J. shakily climbed to his feet, the Guardian slowly walked up to him, his empty hands exposed as if to assure M.J. that he meant no harm. "I have already informed my masters that you have been found and a transport is on its way. However, the location of my masters has to be kept hidden above all else. And so..." The guy let the word trail off as he reached into his pocket, but instead of pulling out a tranq gun, he instead brought out a white handkerchief.

"'kay..." M.J. said, raising an eyebrow. He gave no other reaction, as the guy walked closer and seemed about to blindfold him… only to be stop by the sight of M.J.'s hand.

"What happened to your hand?"

M.J. looked down at it, noticing that most of the toilet paper had been ripped to shreds, partially exposing the serious burn and scorched bits of bone.

"I let someone I knew drown."


	10. Chapter 10

**AUTHOR: Okay, hope I was a little faster with this chapter. Sorry that this one is on the shorter side, considering all the other chapters, but I had planned the previos one to have the ending on this one. I guess I just got lazy. On a side note, there are exams soon coming at my school and I don't know if that will affect my time to write, so…thought I'd mention that.**

**Anyway, special thanks to Reinbeicher and Dierdre for beta-ing this chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

**Warning:** **The usual.**

* * *

"Are we there yet?"

"Understand, Mr...?"

"M.J."

"...M.J. Understand that we are taking this matter most seriously. We are bringing an outsider to our most secret place, which could have more ramifications than you can imagine if it is discovered. As a sworn guardian, I must take every precaution to prevent any kind of breach, intentional or not."

"...sooo, basically, you guys are just driving around to see if anyone is following us, and only after making sure that ain't the case, will we head to this super secret place?"

"...that is one way to look at it, I suppose."

"Ah. Well, in that case, could _you_ please understand, Mr...?"

"Addressing me as Guardian will suffice for now."

"...Guardian. Understand that today has been without a doubt the mother-load of shock and surprise, what with my eyes getting all funky, the police showing a sudden interest in me, getting shot _again,_ seeing a seven-foot tall mutant crocodile, recovering a memory I didn't even know I had that made me realize I've been shot before, my hand getting burned, riding on top of a train halfway across New York City, and then to be told that I have these Borg nano-probes that will kill me, and the only way to prevent that is to put all my trust on the word of someone who dresses like he's seen The Matrix about a billion too many times, but instead of heading to these masters of yours, we're taking a pleasure drive with me blindfolded. So I'm sure you'll understand that I'm just a little anxious to get to this place of yours, yes?"

"...yes, I can understand that."

"Good. Now, are we there yet?"

* * *

_15 minutes later..._

"Watch your head," said the Guardian as M.J. stepped out of the car. Every bone in his body protested leaving the car's comfy seat, but he just gritted his teeth and ignored it, his right hand waving in front of him to make sure he wouldn't walk into anything. Without saying a word, the Guardian took his hand, placed it on his shoulder and started walking slowly towards somewhere. The sounds of elevator doors opening was heard, and they stepped in. As the door closed, he could hear the Guardian press some buttons.

"...just how high up are we going, anyway?" M.J. asked, resisting the urge to scratch his ear.

"What makes you so sure we are going up, Mr. M.J.?"

_I think someone just walked over my grave._

For what seemed like ages, the elevator went down, or at least, that's what M.J. assumed. It barely made a sound and he could feel no vibration of the elevator moving. He was about to ask the Guardian if they were in a closet, when the sounds of doors opened, and M.J. let out a breath he had been holding, relieved that he didn't smell fire and brimstone. Odd machine sounds greeted him as they walked out, and even though no one spoke he knew there were other people nearby. He could feel the pressure oftheireyes on him.

"So when can I take this thing off?" M.J. didn't need to elaborate on what thing he was talking about.

"When I decide so," came the cool reply.

_Gee, that's original,_ M.J. thought, but kept his mouth shut. After walking for a few minutes, there was a sudden low hissing sound that resembled those advanced doors from _Star Trek. _He could tell they had entered a room, for the machine sounds had disappeared, replaced by the familiar sounds of computers.

"We have arrived, Mr. Mortu," the Guardian said and slowly stopped walking, forcing M.J. to stop as well. M.J. thought about removing the blindfold, but decided not to at the last moment.

"Good work, Guardian," came a second voice from out of nowhere. The sound of fancy shoes walking on metal headed towards them and then stopped, the person no doubt close by. "I believe it is now quite safe for him to see. We do not wish to unnerve him even further."

_Too late, genius._

"Yes, Mr. Mortu." M.J. felt fingers work on the blindfold, and when it came off his eyes were closed. He barely cracked open an eyelid, expecting a wash of bright light, but surprisingly the large room had its lights dimmed. The room itself looked like it had been clipped out of a sci-fi game, with highly advanced looking computers along the walls. They seemed so advanced, in fact, that it didn't even look like they had been made by human hands, and what he could see on some of the screens made no sense whatsoever. There were a few people sitting in front of the screens, most of them wearing odd-looking green jumpsuits, and they all had their backs to him so he couldn't see their faces.

_Oh man, what the hell have I gotten myself into this time?_

His attention was quickly brought to the man standing before him. The man looked to be in his late thirties, wearing an expensive corporate suit with a pair of glasses and a polite smile. But what drew M.J.'s immediate attention was the guy's purple hair.

_...ooookay... a hippie corporate guy. Now I've seen everything, and that's saying something coming from me. At least these guys don't look like they're mutants, so I guess that's a plus._

"Greetings, I am Mortu," the guy said, offering his hand. M.J. didn't even glance at it.

"M.J.. I've been told you can give me some answers about this," he said without preamble, pointing at his glowing blue eyes. The corp. guy's smile dwindled slightly, and then he simply nodded with an I'm-a-professional expression.

"Yes, I can understand your wanting to cut to the chase, what with our method of approaching you. But first I think that wound of yours should be treated. It looks rather serious," said the Mortu guy, pointing at M.J.'s wounded shoulder. It had been bandaged by the Guardian during their drive, but blood was slowly seeping through the cloth. The Guardian could do little regarding his burned hand. Small surprise, considering the damage.

"I've lived through worse, it can wait. Besides, if what that guy told me is true," M.J. jabbed a thumb at the Guardian, "then I got bigger problems to worry about."

Mortu blinked, clearly surprised, but did not push the issue. "...very well, if you feel that way. And yes, there is a greater threat lurking inside your body. The nano-probes. And speaking of those, do you remember _how _you got them in the first place?"

"Only about an hour ago. Seems like that big croc had something to do with it." Mentioning him made M.J. suddenly realized the big mutant wasn't in the room. For reasons unknown to him, he felt himself tense slightly, in case anyone in the room tried something. If Mortu noticed, he didn't show it.

"Yes...just so you know, he was not supposed to meet you like that, considering your last encounter. That and the memory block might have caused some...difficulty."

Mortu was about to say more, but was brought up short when M.J.waved his undamaged hand in front of his face. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on here! Memory block? Is that what it was? What made me forget what happened in that sewer?"

"Well, the true purpose of the memory block is to... convince the brain not to think about a specific time in the memory cortex and not to be bothered by it. So tell me, what memory did you have prior to remembering the real one?"

"Uh..." M.J. almost grimaced as he tried to remember. The memory of the croc attacking him came immediately, but he tried to look passed that and to what had been in its place before. But no matter how hard he tried to remember, he just couldn't. "I... I can't remember. Only that... after the... attack, I woke up in a homeless shelter, the people there telling me I had been found lying at their doorstep."

"And you never wondered about the gap in your memory, did you?" Mortu said gently.

"...no...never..." The look on M.J.'s face told precisely what he was thinking; that there was a seven month old, life-changing memory gap,and not once had he given it any thought.

"Well then, I'd say it worked quite well, even though the way it was placed suggests it has been the source of your... discomfort."

For a few seconds it looked like M.J. hadn't heard him... until he blinked and slowly looked at him. "...what?" he growled, his eyes narrowing, his glowing eyes looking like an inferno barely controlled.

Mortu was momentarily taken aback. The Guardian tensed and his hand slowly reached into his coat, while the people sitting in front of the computer screens stopped looking like they were busy and turned to see the exchange. Realizing that they were supposed to _look_ busy while not making it obvious that they were actually eavesdropping, however, they quickly turned back to the screens.

"...yes, after examining some of the data, I believe the memory block is what first activated the nano-probes in your brain. To be more precise, it was what made them stay active while the rest of the probes in your body shut down after healing your wounds. The memory block was being placed at the same time the nano-probes were injected into your body, and somewhere along the line an error was made. It would appear that some of the probes received... wrong orders, or simply misinterpreted them."

Utter disbelief was painted across M.J.'s face.

"So you're saying this weird shit that's been happening to me for months now is all because of some damn computer error!"

Mortu blinked and tilted his head in slight confusion. "Months? As far as we know, the nano-probes started activating themselves only couple of weeks ago."

M.J. froze and suddenly felt almost terrified at the thought of them finding out what he had been doing after they had _saved_ his life. Images of his killings momentarily flashed across his mind, followed by the aftermath of it; the flashbacks, the shaking and the puking.

_Wait… If this stuff is only responsible for what happened after those everything-is-slowing-down-what-the-fuck?-moments, with the blood coming out of my ears and stuff, then what caused those flashbacks?_

"That's... that's what I meant," M.J. said, most unconvincingly. Before Mortu could ask any questions, M.J. continued, "So, Monty, what-"

"Mr. Mortu," said the Guardian, in a voice that left little argument.

"...Mr. Mortu," M.J. corrected himself, making it obvious how silly he thought it was, "now that your precious nano-probes have been returned to you, what are you gonna do with the host?"

Mortu blinked, looking slightly confused, as if he didn't understand what M.J. was talking about. To his credit, though, he did catch on quick. "Why, to safely extract them from your body in order to save your life, as our Guardian told you, Mr. M.J," he said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

"...that's it? That's all you're gonna do to me?"

Judging from Mortu's expression, he realized what M.J. was implying. "Mr. M.J., I can understand your doubt with our words, given what you've been through-" _you don't have a clue what I've been through,_ M.J. thought irritably "-and I honestly don't know how to convince you that we are not a threat, so I guess all I can do is ask you to trust us." His eyes and tone of voice suddenly made M.J. think of the rat, although just for a moment.

"Uh huh. And once you've done your magic trick on me, then what? You just gonna let me go?"

"Ah, yes, well, you see, about that..." said Mortu, looking somewhat embarrassed as he rubbed his chin.

_My, don't you look embarrassed all of a sudden?_

"I knew it."

Mortu's expression quickly changed into a serious one, and once more M.J. was reminded of the rat. "Like I said, Mr. M.J., I am asking you to trust us."

"Trust is a wonderful thing," M.J. said slowly, as he went over his options. Or, to be more precise, tried to think of some.

_Okay... doesn't look like the hippie corp. guy is pulling my leg or trying to trick me. Then again, he is a corp. guy, and they are slimier than a lawyer with six figures in his paycheck. On the other hand, if he has something nasty planned for me, then why the nice guy charade? Why not just knock me out and strap me to an operation table? If he found out what I've been doing for half a year now, would his attitude towards me change? Or does he already know and want something from me?_

_This whole thing is a new playground, and I got no clue about the rules or what to do. And man, am I hating every second of it._

_And why the hell am I wishing that the croc was here?_

"...alright, let's do this," he finally said, all but saying how much he was against it.

"Splendid!" Mortu said cheerfully. "Your trust has not been misplaced, Mr. M.J., this I promise you. If you would follow me, please?" He then walked passed M.J. and towards the only door in the room. As M.J. turned to follow he noticed the Guardian still had his hand inside his coat, ready to bring out whatever was concealed.

Around fifty remarks sprang up in his mind, but for once he decided keeping his mouth shut was the best course of action. He followed Mortu through the doors, and by the sound of things, the Guardian followed as well.

The long hallway was shaped like a small tunnel with no markings or signs on the walls, but since there was only one path to follow, there was little risk of getting lost. As Mortu reached the end of the tunnel, he suddenly stopped and turned to face M.J.. "Mr. M.J., I am afraid I momentarily forgot myself regarding where I am taking you. This section of our... place has some sensitive equipment that would simply raise too many questions. Believe me, Mr. M.J., you not seeing too much would be better for all of us."

M.J. said nothing as the Guardian blindfolded him again and started leading him by the shoulder once more as they walked.

_No gun when you need one._

This time, however, the trip was surprisingly short; only a few steps, really. And when the blindfold was removed, what M.J. saw made him instantly regret coming here in the first place.

It might have taken some people a few seconds to realize what the thing was, but M.J. had seen enough sci-fi horror shows to know a life-pod when he saw one. Looking around, he could see an orange-like glow coming from many more pods in the big room, and he could see that most of them had something in them. They were very small, around the size of a football, but they were too far away to see what the things were.

_Aw man, please don't tell me it's those face-huggers. That'll really complete my day. _

Mortu coughed. "Mr. M.J., if you could please focus on what is in front of you? We have taken enough risk as it is to bring you here, and there are things in here we would prefer you not seeing."

"Lemme guess. I gotta get in that deathtrap?"

"Deathtrap?" Mortu raised an eyebrow. "Please don't tell me you are claustrophobic?"

"I wish. I've seen the movie; the guy who gets inside the life-pod will have something burst out of his chest. That, or turned inside-out." The expression on Mortu's face seemed to be a mixture of mild amusement and annoyance, and the thought occurred to M.J. that Mortu had probably gone through some trouble bringing him here. "But if it's the only way to deal with these nano-probes..."

"It is."

"Well, then, it doesn't really leave much of an option for me. Open it up and let's get this over with."

"Certainly. Just remove your clothes and we'll-"

"**_Excuse me?_ _My clothes?_**" M.J. looked like Mortu had just asked him for marriage.

"Well, yes. In order for the pod to fully scan your body and-"

"Uh-uh. No way. Not a chance. Ain't no way I'm gonna step in there butt-naked. I'd rather take my chances with the nano-probes as it is."

"You don't have to be completely naked," said Mortu, now looking just a bit more irritated, "you can still be in your... underwear."

_Well then, why the hell didn't you say so?_

"Still, trusting a machine?" M.J. pointed out, not wanting to drop the issue.

"Trust is a wonderful thing, remember?" Mortu fired back, the corner of his lips curling upwards as he used M.J.'s previous words against him.

Instead of coming up with any smart-ass remarks, M.J. silently started working on his belt with his right hand, where a sharp pain in his shoulder reminded him of the gunshot wound. "Hey, I got a question. When it gets filled with that orange gooey stuff," he said, pointing at the pod next to the one M.J. was supposed to step in. It was filled with something orange, but otherwise remained empty, "what's gonna happen to my bullet wound? Shouldn't we treat that first?"

"Oh, don't worry, Mr. M.J., you'll be quite safe. These pods will not only help us remove the nano-probes, but they can also heal any kind of physical wound, regardless of how serious they are. You might experience a momentary, sharp pain before the pod puts you in a... mild hibernation, so to speak. It's completely harmless, I assure you, and you will be asleep during the whole procedure," Mortu said with a certain smugness, as if he had invented the pods himself. Or maybe he was just showing off.

"Woah, hold on here. Stuff that can heal any kind of wound?" M.J. said with utter disbelief. "The hell is this? A bad sci-fi movie? How come I've never heard of such a thing before? Something like that would make a killing on the market."

Mortu was silent for a few seconds, and then spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words, "It is as I said, Mr. M.J.. There are things in this place that would be best for everyone on this planet not to know. The nano-probes in your body are but the tip of the iceberg, and just look at what it has done to you," he said, not unkindly.

_Yeah, just look at what it has done to me, and then tell me if I don't deserve it or not._

"When this is over, I'll have some questions," M.J. said, rather pointlessly, but only to see Mortu's reaction, who merely nodded.

"Some will be answered, others not."

He saw little reason to argue about it, but at that point the throbbing in his burned hand was now too much to ignore. "And my hand? Can it fix that, too?"

"Your... hand?" Mortu blinked in slight confusion. When he saw M.J. remove the remaining tissue on his hand, exposing it, he recoiled in horror. "Gods! What happened to you?"

"I... had an accident."

Mortu's expression said that was this year's understatement, but before he could make more queries, M.J continued, "Look, can this thing fix my hand or not?"

Mortu looked like he was about to argue or ask a question, but apparently decided not to and stepped closer to inspect the wound. "This... this is bad. Really bad. Under normal circumstances your hand would be as good as useless, but..."

"...but these are not normal circumstances, are they?"

"No, they are not." Mortu turned and walked up to the pod, pressing some buttons on a console next to it. A small hatch opened, and Mortu pulled out what looked like a hypo-spray from _Star Trek_. He pressed some buttons on the device as he walked up to M.J., gently took a hold of his left arm, pressed the hypo-spray against his wrist and pushed the button. A small hissing sound came, and M.J. flinched slightly as he felt something inject into him, but the feeling was gone the next second. A few moments later, the pain was gone as well.

"Hey, the pain, it's... it's gone," M.J. said, not believing what he was feeling. Or the lack thereof, to be more precise.

"What I injected into you has momentarily shut down your nervous system. By the time it wears off you'll be long asleep. And don't worry about the hand, when you wake up it will be good as new," he said, giving him a reassuring smile.

For a few seconds M.J. said nothing and only stared at his hand. He then resumed undressing until he was stripped down to his boxers. As Mortu opened the pod, M.J. looked at his hand again, and then finally decided.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want you to fix my hand. Not completely."

"Not... completely? What-"

"Look, if you can fix my hand so I can use it again, that'll be great. But I want something that will remind me of what it once looked like. A scar."

Mortu and the Guardian looked at each other, both not believing what they had just heard. "A... a scar? But why?"

"As a reminder."

"A reminder? Of what?"

**G-goddamnit, kid... d-don't let... o-other people drown because of your hatred...**

"Just do it," M.J. snapped, and then stepped into the pod.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author: Another chapter. Special thanks to Dierdre for beta-ing it. On a side note, I'll be going to London for couple of weeks, and at the beginning of June I'll be working full time at our family's bussiness and a little bit in July too, so I honestly can't say when I'll get the time to write. It may be a while untill the next time I update. Emphasize on may.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**

**WARNING: Swearing and violance.**

**_

* * *

_****_Floating inside orange goo is strangely relaxing. A part of you knows that you are half-asleep, and another small part wonders why you haven't drowned yet. Maybe the goo is similar to that pink stuff from that movie _Abyss_? Man, that was a good film. Looks like crap today, but at the time it came out it was at its finest. Whatever the stuff is, after riding on top of a train, the rest is most welcoming._**

_**Wonder how Splinter is doing. Hope his leg healed okay.**_

**_Nothing much to do, really. In fact, it's kinda boring. Should have asked for a magazine before stepping into this thing. _**

_**Aw, screw it. Being stuck between waking and sleeping sucks. Think I'm gonna catch some z's. Wake me up when Monty is finished with me.**_

* * *

"Hello? Anyone here?" A boy that looked no older than fourteen slowly walked behind the mechanic garage, nervously pulling his duffel bag up on his shoulder. A couple of cars were in the shop waiting to get fixed, and somewhere a radio was playing old country music. As the boy walked between the two cars, he suddenly stumbled and almost fell when he tripped over a leg that was stretched out on the floor.

"Ow!" The owner of the leg rolled out from under the car he had been working on, revealing an African American in his late fifties wearing dirty mechanic overalls. He slowly looked at the boy from top to bottom, as if measuring him up, before finally speaking, "So, you must be that kid I was told to expect. M.J., right?"

"A-actually, sir, my real name is-"

"Save it, kid. Once you get a street name, you're stuck with it for life, so you'd just better get used to it." The old man grunted slightly as he got up, and as he pulled out a dirty handkerchief to clean his filthy hands, he slowly shook his head in disbelief as he gazed down at the boy once more. "Jesus, you kids get younger and younger every damn time. I know Grove has been going through some tough times lately, but I sure as hell didn't suspect it was bad enough to recruit kids who haven't hit puberty yet. Or who are of the lighter skin tone," he mumbled half to himself as he turned, walking to the car's open hood and beginning to tinker with the interior.

The kid fidgeted a bit, unsure what to do. "Umm, M-Mr. Hankson-"

"Emet, kid, call me Emet. You calling me Mr. makes me feel more older than I already am."

"Emet... w-where will I be sleeping?"

"There's a small room behind the garage office that has a bed. I sometimes use it when working late, but since your stay here is supposed to be only temporary, you can use it. Now, there are only two things I expect from you while you're staying here. One, if I ask you to do something, you do it. And second," Emet pulled away from the hood and looked squarely into the kid's eyes, "there are stairs in the office that lead to the basement. _Never_ go down there. Understand?"

"Y-yes, Emet."

"Good boy. Hand me the screwdriver that's on the floor beside you," Emet said as he bent over the hood again. M.J. picked it up wordlessly and handed it to Emet. "Thanks. Now, is it true what I heard? That you got kicked out of an orphanage?" Emet's voice has changed to a conversational tone, and the kid relaxed a bit.

"Yeah, the sisters went nuts when they heard I had a gang tattoo. They all but splashed me with holy water when they threw me out." Considering the boy's age and how he told the tale, he seemed to be alarmingly undisturbed by the experience.

"Well, kid," Emet said absentmindedly as he tweaked the engine, "look on the bright side. At least you got out before one of them priests got a hold of ya."

"...what?"

Emet froze when he realized what he had just said. "Umm, n-nothing, kid, nothing. Say, wanna learn how to drive?"

* * *

"You sure you're ready for this?"

"Hey, man, chill! I been waitin' for dis day my whole fuckin' life! Ain't no way I'm gonna mess it up, B.B.!"

"Hey!" The big guy turned in his seat and glared at the passenger. "I don't go by that name," he growled, "and the sorry son of a bitch that has it is such a fuckup, you callin' me dat is da worst kind of insult. I've beaten up fuckheads for less, but since you're young an' stupid, I'll let it slide. This time. Got it, punk?"

The kid looked almost petrified. "H-hey man, chill! I-I didn't mean anythin' by it, I'm sorry, Big Bear!"

Big Bear gave the kid one last glare before turning back in his seat. Even though many were easily intimidated by his size, Big Bear's face usually showed warmth and a good sense of humor, but this time his expression was hard.

"Tell me what yer supposed to do," Big Bear said as he scanned the street for any signs of trouble.

"Dat's easy, man. We gonna wait 'ere 'till dat fat foo' shows up, an' 'den I'm gonna ice that motherfucker. Easy as fuck, man," said the teenager with the dreadlocks, stroking the gun like it was his manhood.

"Glad your attention span is a bit longer then five minutes," said Big Bear, a slight frown marring his face as he eyed the target's building.

The teenager just snorted. "I just got one question, Big Bear."

"Yeah?"

"What in 'da fuck is that white boy doin' 'ere?"

"Hey, the white boy's gotta name, an' it's M.J.," snapped the fifteen-year-old teenager, his grip on the wheel tightening slightly.

The hotheaded teenager in the back of the car looked like he had a nasty retort ready to spout, but Big Bear beat him to it. "You ain't the only one that's goin' through initiation, Dennis. If both of you don't fuck this up, it will mean dat 'da Grove will know dey can count on ya when needed. Now shut the fuck up, both of ya, an' wait."

The silence lasted for nearly five minutes.

"Big Bear..." M.J. slowly said.

"Mmm?" rumbled the big man, not exactly pleased that the white boy had broken the silence, although he wasn't going to ignore him, either.

"...what did he do? The guy Dennis over 'dere is gonna whack?"

"Whack?" Dennis snorted. "Jesus, man, you sure you on 'da right side 'ere? I think 'da mafia is just 'round the corner 'ere," he said mockingly, sniggering at his own joke.

"Shut. The fuck. Up," growled Big Bear. Dennis just shrugged and looked out the window. For a moment Big Bear said nothing, until he answered without looking at M.J.. "You heard about the crackdown at that high school near here, where some drugs were found in dat kid's locker?"

"Kinda hard not to. It's been all over the news."

"Yeah, well, turns out that the fatass we're waitin' for was da one who sold 'da stinkin' base to them kids, an' we gotta get 'im before the Five-o does. If dat happens, he might start squealin' an' sayin' dat he was just doin' what the Head Families of 'da Grove told him to do. We can't take dat kind of heat right now."

"You mean... the guy's a Grover?"

"Bingo. Why, you havin' some second thoughts?"

"No, no, just… surprised, dat's all. That the guy?"

"Hell, yeah. Dennis, you ready?"

"I was born ready!"

And for several months afterwards, the thunderous sounds of gunshots would echo in his ears.

* * *

"Is this some kind of fucking joke?"

Nearly everyone in the warehouse was snickering. "Why, M.J., what makes you think that?" More snickers.

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe 'cause dat thing looks like it'll fall apart if I breathe too hard on it?"

"Dat thing happens to be yer gang gun, M.J.. It symbolizes yer full acceptance into our gang, an' should anyone mess with you, they'll be messin' with all of us. Now go on an' take yer new gun."

"Nothing _new_ about this thing," M.J. mumbled loudly as he carefully lifted the antique gun off the table. As if to emphasize his point, a small screw fell off it and hit the floor.

The entire warehouse rumbled in laughter.

* * *

"Man, I still can't believe those assholes did this to us! We did nuthin' 'cept just stand near that fucking shop!"

"Yeah, well, I sure as hell believe it, Patch. 'least they didn't keep us 'dere overnight."

"An' dats gonna make it all better, how exactly?"

"Man, fuck this! Ain't no way that clerk asshole is gonna get away with this! I say we head over 'dere an' smash his store up good!"

"Hell, yeah!

"I'm in!"

"What 'bout you, M.J.? Feelin' like lettin' off some steam?"

The white teenager looked at Dennis 'da Menace like he had just grown an extra head. "Did you forget yer nose in 'dat cell or sumthin'? I don't give a fuck what you guys are gonna do. Me, I'm gonna head home, take a long shower an' burn these damn clothes!"

"Man, watching 'dat bum puke all over M.J. as he slept was funny as hell! A true Kodak moment if I ever saw one!" The three punks laughed hard as M.J. yelled at them to shut the hell up, all the while trying to wipe the stinking puke off his clothes without actually touching it.

"Whatever, man! You guys do whatever the hell you wanna do! Me, I'm headin' home. Later, dogs," M.J. said as he parted from the group and walked towards the park to take a shortcut home.

* * *

"Man, that guy better not have AIDS," growled M.J. as he threw his stinking jacket into the big lake. No one was around so late at night, so it bothered him little. But just as he was about to walk away, something near the shore caught his eye.

"The hell?" It was too dark to properly make it out, but from what he could see, it looked like some kind of bone. Still not really thinking, he bent down and picked it up. The thing turned out not to be a bone, but an egg that was strangely white.

* * *

"How long has it been 'dere?"

"Couple of weeks."

"Ain't it dead or sumthin'?"

"These things take time, dog."

The group was huddled around a small table in Emet's garage, staring at a small box filled with grass and a large, pearlescent egg. Above it hung a red heating lamp.

"That's an odd lookin' egg, M.J.. What do you think is inside?" one of them finally asked.

"Those big birds with those long, yellow beaks. The type that delivers babies an' stuff," replied M.J. without taking his eyes off the egg.

"The stork? _Here?_ In New York?"

"Hey, either that or a mutant-chicken."

"Ain't it possible it got out of a zoo or sumthin'?"

"Could be."

More minutes passed where no one said anything, including Emet. They all just stared wide-eyed at the egg.

"Man, I'm hungry. Should I order some-"

"Yo! Did ya'll see that?"

"The egg just moved!"

The group leaned in closer as the egg shifted slightly, and a zigzagging crack began to form.

Then the occupant's head burst through the thin shell, and several of Grove's toughest members squealed in sheer fright as they jumped away from the egg, some falling to the floor while others automatically reached for their weapons. Even Emet took a step backwards, although that might have been mostly due to how the others reacted.

As for M.J. himself, the only things that moved were his eyebrows, which went all the way up as the young gangster and the crocodile hatchling looked into each other's eyes.

"Well... that was unexpected."

* * *

"I heard today that the Riverbank Boyz just got whipped by this new gang, the Purple Dragons. That's the fifth gang in this month alone. The streets are filled with tension, everyone's all on edge and for good reason, too. Up until now, those Dragons had left the big gangs alone and worked on the smaller ones instead, and even though the Riverbank Boyz couldn't be described as a very big gang, they sure as hell didn't qualify as small time, either. Rumor on the street is that the Dragons are stepping up their expansion. With the Boyz's turf now under their control, they can launch an attack from the Chainheads' turf to the El Diablos. An' if they do that and win, they'll be just a couple of blocks away from us," M.J. said softly as he gazed up at the stars. He was at his secret place, though it really wasn't that much of a secret, since it was on the roof of the apartment building he lived in. At the moment, no one else was with him as he lay back in his old sun bed, a cooler with beer on his right, and a stereo playing country music on low volume.

It was a perfect place to momentarily escape the 'hood's madness and just relax, although this time his secret spot did little to calm him. "I'm... well, scared. More so than usual. You'd think I wouldn't be, since up until now everything about my life was uncertain; whether I was gonna get whacked by another gang or some overzealous cop, or if I screwed up a job so bad the Head Families decided to get rid of me. Before, these kind of thoughts never left me alone for one stinkin' minute, but now, since the big fight between Grove and the Dragons has all but happened, is an event that _will_ happen, you'd think I'd feel relieved to finally know something that ain't just speculation. But... I'm not relieved. I'm scared. Terrified. More than once I've thought about leaving, but... where would I go? I've been in New York all my life, I ain't got some scholarship or whatever, and the only thing I'm good at is driving and pissing people off, so... where would I go? What would I do? Being a gangster is all I know. And losing that is... what terrifies me so much."

For good few minutes after his confession, M.J. remained silent and just looked up at the stars. Then, as a police helicopter passed nearby, he looked down at his chest, where Leatherhead had coiled around himself, an unmistakable chirr coming from the small hatchling as M.J. gently traced his finger over the croc's head and down on his back.

"Some listener you are."

* * *

As M.J. walked around the corner and saw his apartment building, he silently cursed Dennis and broke into a jog. The party seemed to be at its peek, for heavy rock music poured from nearly all the windows. As he neared the place he could see Dennis just outside the front doors, speaking to two other Grovers. From the looks of things, he was rather upset.

"Hey, Dennis!" M.J. yelled when he got close enough for his voice to reach Dennis, who in turn looked momentarily startled, although maybe not just by surprise.

"Oh, uh, M.J., umm, yer here early. What, uh, wassap?" Dennis stammered with a nervous grin, while the other two Grovers stepped away a bit. They were all acting weird, but M.J. just ignored it since he had more important things bothering him.

"Goddamnit, Dennis, you should have told me you were havin' a party! Leatherhead must be scared shitless now!" He had some other nasty things in his head to call Dennis, but the thought of the poor little hatchling terrified because of all the music pushed all that away. As he was about to make his way inside, however, Dennis reached out and stopped him.

Dennis and M.J. might have gotten off to a rough start, but as time passed the two had quickly become friends, even though they couldn't have been more different. Dennis 'da Menace; black, a Soldier in Grove, a horrible driver and the resident hothead. M.J.; white, a driver who had never fired a weapon save at bottles and cans. Both had been through some nasty shit together, but M.J. had never seen Dennis look so uncomfortable and... guilt-stricken?

"Ah, M.J., dere's... dere's sumthin' you should know. Somethin'... sumthin' happened, man, couple of hours ago at the party. I'm... I'm sorry."

"What happened?"

"Look, n-no one realized what happened 'till it was too late. I locked yer room with ol' Leatherhead in it before the party started, I swear, but..." Dennis just closed and opened his mouth as he tried to continue, but when he had mentioned Leatherhead, a near bottomless pit of dread opened up in M.J.'s stomach.

He took a step forward and got up in Dennis's face. "What. Happened."

* * *

"Goddamnit, man, think 'dis through! Ain't no way yer gonna get away with 'dis!" M.J. continued ignoring Dennis as he marched down the street, prompting his friend to continue with his pleas, "Look, B.B. is a pussy, a wannabe pimp, a coward, a fuckin' addict, doesn't know jack from anythin' at all, an' 'dere's not a man alive that hasn't met the little bastard an' wanted him dead! But 'dere's a reason why dat hasn't happened an' dats 'cause he's connected! He knows which asses to kiss! An' da last thing we need now is Grove killin' Grove! We gonna need everyone when 'da Dragons attack! Will you just-"

Without looking, M.J. elbowed Dennis in the stomach, nearly causing him to collapse to the pavement. M.J. continued walking without a backward glance.

Some of the party guests had heard what happened and what M.J. seemed to be planning on doing, and felt like that would be more interesting than the party. They decided to follow a couple of meters behind them, keeping a safe distance from M.J..

Reaching a corner, he saw his target, hanging outside the local bar.

"-an' then 'da bitch said; _"But-but-but, master! I need this money for my sick momma! If I don't pay the hospital, they'll kick her out!"_ Fuckin' whore, tryin' to scam out in givin' me my cut."

"What did you, Mr. B.B.?" asked Jarhead, the tall, muscled brute who acted as B.B.'s bodyguard and all but licked his shoes on a regular basis. He was also as stupid as his nickname suggested. Him thinking that having B.B. as a friend was actually a good thing was proof enough of that.

"What did you think I did, foo'? I slapped 'da dumb bitch so silly, her eyelashes fell off! _No one_ tries to get away with givin' me my cut! Especially not some two-bit stinkin' tramp like dat!" Some other people were also outside the bar, who seemed to be planning on going inside to avoid B.B., just shook their heads when they heard his boast about slapping one of his girls. No doubt he'd had someone else do it, since the first woman he ever tried to push around had pepper-sprayed him.

B.B. was about to say something else, but was brought to a halt when M.J. smashed the stock of his old pistol into his face. He fell to the ground with a girlish squeal of fright and pain.

"H-hey! You leave Mr. B.B. alone!" roared Jarhead, charging at M.J., but a kick to his groin brought him down as well.

"What-what-what-what the-" B.B. stammered as he shakily turned around to see who had struck him. When he saw M.J. he looked momentarily surprised, "Y-you..." He paused, and his face twisted into sneer. "Yer dead, white boy! Fuckin' dead! No one messes with me an'-"

He was cut short when M.J. hit him in the face again. He started wailing for Jarhead to help him, but the brute was still on the ground clutching his groin. B.B.'s screaming was abruptly muffled when M.J. shoved the gun barrel into his mouth.

"M.J.! No! Don't-" Dennis screamed as he came running towards them, but it was too late.

CRUNCH

The sound of teeth breaking was heard when M.J.'s fist hit B.B.'s jaw, forcing immense pressure onto the teeth forced against the gun. Dennis stopped dead in his tracks and blinked stupidly at what he had just seen and heard, as M.J. hit B.B. again, twisting the gun in his mouth in the process. Other people outside the bar shared Dennis' expression at what they were seeing, yet no one made a move to stop it.

Only after the fourth or fifth hit did Dennis snap out of it. "Separate 'em! Separate 'em!" he shouted. He leapt at M.J. and tried to drag him away from the screaming B.B., but M.J.'s fury had given him extra strength, and he proceeded to deliver the next blow.

In the end, it took five guys to drag him away from B.B., who was forced to eat baby food for nearly six months before finally scraping up the money to get false teeth.

* * *

"Leatherhead? You in there?" called M.J. as he peered into the small sewer pipe. The beam from his flashlight didn't reveal anything, and he soon moved on, keeping to the footpath that ran along the interior of the sewer pipe. He kept this up for hours, walking around and calling out his pal's name with the smallest hope he'd find him, until hunger and fatigue forced him to climb back to the surface.

"God-_damn_! You stink!" exclaimed Dennis as M.J. climbed out of the manhole that was on the same street as his apartment, his clothes reeking from sewer stench and... other stuff. M.J. said nothing as he sat on the edge of the manhole, his feet dangling idly. After a few seconds had passed in silence, Dennis spoke again, "Did... did you find anythin'?"

"No."

"Well, I dunno if you actually will fin' 'im again. I mean, it's been over two weeks already. I don't think he's, well..." Dennis made a gesture with his hands, but M.J. didn't see it, apparently too busy looking at his flashlight. Dennis seemed to be thinking about something, then somewhat _hesitantly_ spoke again, "I dunno, maybe... maybe its all for da best, y'know? I mean," he quickly added, "I loved da little guy an' everythin', but what 'bout when he grew up, y'know? How would you feed him an' stuff, know what I mean?"

Dennis looked at M.J. with slight nervousness, who said nothing for several long seconds. "...yeah...maybe," he slowly said, though he didn't believe it. M.J. then chose to finally look up at Dennis. "Are you here to kill me?"

"What?" Dennis blinked, and then realized what M.J. had just said. A hurt expression appeared on his face. "Aw, hell no, man! You know I'd never do dat! We're buddies! Why da the hell would ya think somethin' like dat?"

M.J. just shrugged. "You said it yourself. B.B. is connected and since I smashed his teeth, well..."

"Yeah, dat you did. An' yeah, B.B.'s been screamin' bloody murder to 'da head families 'bout killin' you for what you did to him, but even though dat foo' got connections, they ain't _dat_ good. In fact, yo stupid act has people thinkin' that maybe yer not such a harmless, whimpy white boy like everyone always thought you were. Anyway, we gonna need everyone we can get when 'ose damn Purple motherfuckin' Dragons attack. Killin' our own ain't exactly gonna increase our winnin' chances, know what I mean?"

"Yeah," replied M.J., with an indifference that worried Dennis even more, "...has anythin' happened yet? With the Dragons, I mean?"

"Naw, man, nuthin'. They been expanding like crazy ever since dey showed up 'ere, an' now they suddenly stopped? A lot of people are edgy, man, lot of bickering between 'da families an' shit. I'm worried, dog; it's never been 'dis bad before. Ever."

Despite the rare worry in Dennis' voice, M.J. only nodded as his gaze fell to the ladder leading back down to the sewers. "Is that the only reason why you're here?"

"I wish. It's Big Bear."

At hearing the name, M.J. looked sharply up at Dennis. "What happened?" he asked, although the tone of his voice suggested he had an idea or two.

"Seems like he's disappeared again, man. 'Da guys at the rehab center haven't seen or heard from him for over a week now."

M.J. sighed deeply, his thoughts confirmed, and wearily ran a hand through his hair. "...alright, just gotta change clothes and maybe a shower or two, then I'll meet up with you."

"A'ight, we'll be waitin' for you at Reeces'. See you 'dere, dog," Dennis said, turning to walk away. M.J. sat motionless for a few seconds before he slowly got up and started heading for his apartment. After taking a few steps, he stopped and turned around to look at the manhole, as if hoping to hear or see something. But nothing came out of the sewer access, and after waiting a bit, he slowly turned away and headed to his home.

* * *

The club was in an uproar.

Everyone was shouting at each other. A lot of angry faces were in the crowd, and just as many fearful, too. All of them were packing heat. A nineteen-year-old M.J. pushed through the crowd as he tried to reach the bar where Dennis was.

"Hey, Dennis!" M.J. shouted as he stood next to him, trying to make sure his voice would reach. Dennis just nodded, looking like he hadn't slept for over a week.

"M.J., I see you got 'da call, too," he responded in a raised voice, just loud enough for M.J. to hear.

"Yeah, but I wasn't told what it was all 'bout. You know anythin'?"

"Naw, man, just 'dat it looks like Web has called just 'bout everyone 'ere in 'da street. Must be sumthin' big since yer here, too." Dennis didn't mean anything bad with his words, because it was the truth. Since M.J. wasn't a Soldier, the only time he was called was to sit behind the wheels and drive. Looking around the crowd now, the majority were Soldiers, true, but there were also others who weren't. Dennis was right; something big was being planned. Desperate, but big.

Dennis said something, but M.J. didn't hear it. "What?"

"I said, have ya heard what happened last night?"

"The Dragons struck again?"

"Dey did more then dat, foo', dey attacked where Sledge, Balls, Eyebrow an' Riley lived."

"They're... dead?" M.J. asked, utter disbelief written on his face.

"Fuck, yeah. Gunned down Sledge an' Riley in their own beds, for Christ's sake." Dennis shook his head and drank his beer, while M.J. just stared at Dennis slack-jawed, and then slowly looked around the club, now knowing why everyone was so damn upset.

"_Yo! Everybody shut the fuck up!"_

Everyone quickly fell silent and all eyes went to the stage, where Web stood with a microphone in his hand._ "'Dose stinkin' motherfuckin' Dragons have finally decided to strike against 'da Grove, but instead of comin' face to face with us they instead sneak behind us and slit our throats!"_

A roar went through the crowd. No one needed to be reminded of that. But Web kept on talking, _"An' you know why? 'cause dey are afraid, dats why!"_ the roar became mixed with cheers, _"'da Grove been aroun' for nearly thirty fuckin' years, an' anyone dat's been stupid enough to try an' challenge us, we rolled 'em over!"_

The cheer strengthened slightly, but someone could be heard shouting, "But dey got fuckin' state-of-the-art automatics!"

"_Not anymore!"_ shouted Web, and the entire club fell in an almost stunned silence. _"I just got a call from Brian a couple of hours ago, an' he an' his homies hit one of 'da Dragons' suppliers! We gonna use their own weapons against 'dose stinkin' motherfuckers! We gonna strike back at 'em, take back our streets an' avenge 'dose 'dat were killed in their own stinkin' homes!"_

The cheer threatened to bring down the house.

* * *

Everyone was leaving the club and heading to their cars, all of them in high spirits at the thought of finally matching the Purple Dragons' firepower. M.J. and Dennis were also going to M.J.'s car, when someone called from behind, "Yo, Dennis!"

Both turning, they saw Web walking up to them.

"Dennis, I want yer stinkin' ass ridin' with me. M.J., you drive. Let's go." And with that, Web, one of the head families' Lieutenants, walked to his car, leaving Dennis and M.J. looking at each other in utter disbelief. And then both remembered who had told them to tag along, and they hurried to Web's car.

"An' make sure we're da first ones to arrive," Web said as M.J. started the car.

"Okay," replied M.J., not really sure what else he could say.

As he skillfully drove passed parked cars and moving ones, Dennis was heard asking, "S-so, Web, how many did Brian lose when 'dey stormed da place?"

"B.B. didn't say."

"B.B.?" asked M.J., glancing momentarily at Web before looking back at the road. "I thought Brian had called you?"

"Naw, 'da bitch B.B. was da one callin'. No surprise since Brian is 'da one B.B. answers to. Anyway, he told me Brian was too busy unloading dose guns in our warehouse, an' he told him to make the call. Now step on it, I wanna get my hands on dose fancy assault rifles."

* * *

"Where is everyone?" M.J. asked no one in particular as they drove inside the old warehouse, the rest of Web's crew following behind him M.J. stopped the car deep inside the warehouse and the others parker theirs behind.

"The hell?" said Web as he exited the car. The warehouse was empty; no Brian, no weapons. "The fuck is goin' on here?" Web yelled at the other guys, who only shrugged.

"I got a bad feelin' 'bout this," M.J. mumbled to Dennis as they got out of the car. Dennis only nodded grimly, keeping a grip on his gun, although he didn't pull it out.

"What 'da hell is goin' on, Web? Where are dose weapons you promised us, huh?" barked Zero, who made it no secret that he'd had his eyes on Web's position for years. Behind Zero, some of his own gang stood with him, and in a record time the warehouse was filled with tension and anger.

"Zero, you dumb-motherfucker, now is not 'da time! Can't yo see 'dat we're in a middle of a fuckin' war?. !" snapped Web, although he was smart enough not to reach for his weapon. Some people slowly made their way to Web's side, silently stating which one they followed. Even though Zero and his gang were outnumbered nearly two to one, it didn't seem to stop him from challenging Web.

"All I see is a losin' battle dat is led by fuckheads like you. You promise us weapons an' a chance to get back at 'da Dragons, but yer words are 'bout as full as 'dis warehouse." The tone of his voice, his stance and the look in his eyes told everyone that he had chosen this moment to pull a coup. Without a doubt, everyone would have started shooting at each other, if a familiar shrieky voice hadn't sounded from up above.

"Up here, shitheads!" Everyone looked up automatically, and there he was. B.B., standing on the warehouse's second floor, looking down at all the Grovers with a punchable smirk on his lips, as if he knew something the others didn't.

"B.B.?" Web said, looking momentarily surprised, but the expression was quickly replaced by a scowl. "'Da fuck is goin' on, B.B.? You told me Brian had got some weapons! Where 'da fuck are dose heaters an' where 'da fuck is Brian!"

"Brian's dead, foo'," B.B. said, the smirk intensifying as if he was about to drop the punch line, "an' as for 'dose weapons, they're right here." As if on cue, twenty fully armed Dragons appeared behind the railing above them, all taking aim at the Grovers. Utter surprise and disbelief couldn't begin to describe the expressions on the betrayed gang members' faces, and the only one that said anything was B.B., who was laughing in that squeaky voice of his.

"Say hello to my new friends!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Author: Okay, its been over a year since I last posted a chapter. The main reason with the long delay would be that this chapter proved to be very hard to write, I just never seemed to get it the way I wanted it to be. So, one day I decided to take a break, only as time went by other things got in the way; School, work, lack of interest, World Of Warcraft, among other personel reasons. But, I'm now trying to get back on the saddle, to continue what I started and only hope that I still got readers out there and that I'll be able to write future chapters more quickly.**

**And so, without further delay, I hope that you all enjoy and very special thanks to Dierdre and Reinbeauchaser who still want to be my beta-readers.**

* * *

_Have you ever dealt with people who have lost everything in just an hour? In the morning you leave the house where your wife, your children, your parents live. You return and find a smoking pit. Then something happens to you - to a certain extent you stop being human. You do not need any glory, money anymore; revenge becomes your only joy. And because you no longer cling to life, death avoids you, the bullets fly past. You become a wolf._

_- __**Russian General Aleksander Lebed, veteran of Afghanistan.**_

If anyone had been near that warehouse, he would have thought he was in the middle of a war zone. Which, in retrospect, wouldn't have been that far off. But the warehouse district was one of many that had become derelict in New York City, so everyone within hearing range was already inside, and there was no one left to call the police to tell what was happening. In other words, no outside help was coming.

The sound of over a dozen automatics discharging came from the warehouse, almost drowning out the returning fire from simple pistols. Anyone with good hearing would have heard the screams of betrayed gangsters, of people fighting for their lives and losing. Those kinds of sounds are hard to forget, so perhaps it was a mixed blessing that no one outside heard what happened that day.

Or…what the consequences would be of this betrayal...

* * *

At the back of the warehouse was a simple door that the owners and workers had used. It hadn't been in operation for years, though, and a simple lock had kept it closed.

Three shots went through the door, the third blowing away the lock, and the door was kicked open. M.J., with his right arm wedged under Dennis' left arm and shoulder, stumbled out, while Dennis fired a couple of more shots back into the warehouse. Dennis' shirt was soaked in his own blood and as he grit his teeth in pain, blood slowly seeped from his mouth. Gunshots still rang out in the warehouse, although it was less intense, and it sounded more like the Dragons were now simply enjoying themselves.

As both gangsters passed through the door, M.J. kicked it closed, spotted a nearby dumpster, and walked as fast as he could towards it with Dennis in his grip. Without either of them speaking, Dennis leaned against the wall, while M.J. pushed the dumpster as hard and fast as he could to block the door. And not a moment too soon, for some Dragons immediately tried to open it on the other side.

"That won't hold 'em off forever. Let's go!" M.J. moved to get a hold of Dennis again, but the other shrugged him off.

"You're right, man; they'll catch on in no time. Someone's gotta hold 'em off for one of us to escape, an' I never was much of a fast runner anyway, man."

M.J. just looked at Dennis with a stunned expression. "W-what the hell are you talkin' about? We gotta get you to a hospital. You've been shot!"

"Yeah, an' it sure as hell ain't like the movies. You barely notice it 'till all the ruckus has quieted down. You'll see, if you ever get shot," Dennis replied while checking how much ammo he had left.

"But...but…" M.J. suddenly ran out of words and simply opened and closed his mouth, his eyes slowly showing his fear and the shock of what had just happened inside the warehouse. Then, the Dragons stopped trying to open the door and instead started shooting through it.

"Get movin', ya dumb white boy!" Dennis snarled as he shoved M.J. away. "'da Head Families gotta know it was B.B. 'dat betrayed us! Gotta know 'cause 'da fuckhead knows every damn thing 'bout us! Safe houses, contacts, suppliers, you name it!"

M.J. stumbled backwards from Dennis' shove, looked away from the warehouse, and then helplessly back at Dennis. He opened his mouth to say something, and Dennis yelled, "Gawd damnit, move!" He fired his weapon at M.J., the bullet hitting the wall above M.J., showering him with debris splatter.

Startled, M.J. turned and ran away, never looking back.

Dennis watched M.J. go and then took a deep breath, which caused him to cough up more blood. Sounds of breaking wood came from behind the dumpster and the container slowly started to move away from the door. When the first Dragon stepped through, Dennis fired his gun at him, and the bullet tore into the side of the man's neck.

"Yee-haw! How do you like 'dat, _bitch_?" Sounds of yelling and curses sang out, as three more Dragons rushed through the door, stepping over the twitching corpse blocking the threshold. Dennis fired four more shots, one hitting a Dragon in the leg and another in the shoulder, as the third jumped back inside. The two Dragons fell on the ground, screaming in pain, and Dennis aimed his gun at one of them and pulled the trigger.

CLICK

"Aw, fuck."

* * *

Even though the warehouse district had fallen into disarray, the fences surrounding it were still top-notch, and the only way to escape the area was the same way everyone entered. The only problem was that the warehouse was right in front of it and the long distance in-between offered next to no cover.

M.J. carefully peeked around the corner and saw the two large doors that had once trapped the gangsters inside now almost completely ruinedMJ saw that Zero and some of his crew had got back into their car and drove through the doors, while the Dragons opened fire. Not that it had done much good for them, since the car had stopped halfway to the exit of the warehouse district. He could see bloody corpses inside the car, as well as several bullet holes, but the vehicle was still running and so it became M.J.'s best chance to escape. It was still some distance away, however, and there was a good chance M.J. would get spotted.

For a split second, M.J. could have sworn he heard Dennis cursing, before the chatter of discharging automatics sounded behind the warehouse. At that moment, he somehow knew, felt it deep within himself, that he had no more friends left.

As if trying to escape that truth, M.J. ran towards the car, expecting at any second to hear a shout or feel a bullet hit him. But neither occurred and he made it safely to the car. The driver's door was open and half of Zero's body lay on the street, the rest of him still inside the vehicle. A pool of blood mixed with flecks of brain matter was slowly forming, courtesy of a bullet that had gone through Zero's left eye. The one in the backseat looked even less prettier.

Tamping down a scream of revulsion, M.J. shakily grabbed Zero's body and started to pull it out of the car, but the corpse's legs were tangled in the belt.

"C'mon, c'mon!" M.J. hissed as with each pull his panic grew, his gasping breaths beginning to sound like he was on the verge of crying.

A sudden shout of_ "Hey! There's one!" _was the only warning M.J. got, but it was enough. Letting go of Zero's body, he hurled himself into the driver's seat as Dragons opened fire on the car.

Getting shot at in a car with couple of bodies for company would have made just about anyone freeze with fear and panic, no matter what movies they might've seen. Fear was truly in M.J., an almost absolute terror… and yet, through that fear, he gained a moment of clarity. At least, that was the best word to describe it.

He pushed the pedal to the metal, aware to keep his head down to avoid getting shot, while ignoring the sound of Zero's body dragging on the ground. Just as he passed through the gate, Zero's legs untangled from the belt, and the car lurched as the back-tires rolled over the body. M.J. managed to ignore that, too, but the shaking caused the body riding 'shotgun' to fall on M.J. The bloody face touched M.J.'s, the cold lips of the corpse brushing MJ's cheek like a lover.

_That_, M.J. could not ignore.

Screaming incoherently, M.J. pushed the body away from him and, at the same time, lost control of the car, causing it to drive directly towards the wall beyond the gate. He tried to grab the steering wheel again, but the blood on his hands made gripping nearly impossible. At the last second, he got a grip and pulled the wheel sharply to the left, the driver's side of thecar scraping against the wall as he drove pell-mell down the street away from the warehouse district.

M.J. had gotten away.

And no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop crying, as the shock finally settled in.

* * *

_Dennis gave his life so that I could get away, and all he asked of me was to tell everyone of B.B.'s betrayal._

_Only I didn't._

_I was just so scared. Of everything._

_For the rest of that day I just drove around aimlessly. When night came, I used what little money I had to rent a cheap motel. When I ran out of dough, I went to one of the places where I stashed money that I had won street racing. _

_And after that, I just continued hiding._

_Days turned into weeks, weeks into months._

_And I just watched as Grove got wiped out. I tried a couple of times to attend the funerals, but I just couldn't do it. Couldn't face them, not after what I had done._

_And what does that make me? Not only a coward, but a traitor to boot._

_To this day, I have tried to tell myself that even if I had warned them that one of our own, who knew Grove's inner workings intimately, had turned, it still wouldn't have made a difference. That Grove would still have been defeated._

_Want to know another secret? When word reached me that Grove had truly fallen, for one moment I was happy. I thought that with Grove's death, what I had seen and done had died with it. That now a fresh start opened for me. A chance to do something with my life._

_However, t__he moment had passed as quickly as it appeared._

_Because, as I've said before, guilt has a chilling feeling._

* * *

Slowly and feeling rather unsure, Frank walked into the saloon. It was almost noon and already some people were inside, drinking, smoking, and playing poker. Next to the bar, the pianist played a slow tune, increasing the already classic western atmosphere.

"Can Ah help ya with sumthin', stranger?" The Texan voice startled Frank a bit and he glanced over to where it had come from. Leaning against the bar was a man who looked like he had been removed from a sixties western movie and placed here in the room. A glass of scotch was in his hand and a sheriff's badge was pinned to his chest. Although his face was friendly, his eyes gave Frank a subtle warning not to be a troublemaker.

"I, ah..." Frank began, but petered off as his mind went blank. The sheriff beckoned him over to the bar and he complied before attempting to rally himself, "...well, to be honest, I don't know what I'm doing here. Or how I got here, for that matter."

"A lost soul, eh? We get 'em here from time to time. Like those four over there." The sheriff nodded towards the corner. Looking, Frank saw four figures huddled around a table, the darkness almost engulfing them completely. Through the shadows, he could just make out their hats, which were of the strangest colors. One wore a blue hat, the second a red one, third a purple and the fourth an orange hat.

"Why are they..." Frank trailed off as he noticed something else. "Hey, there's an empty seat with them." A dumb thing to say for sure, yet Frank just couldn't shake the feeling that it was very significant, that a fifth person was supposed to be there.

"Yeah, someone very near an' dear to 'em is missin'," the sheriff replied, taking a swig of his glass of scotch. "Been searchin' for their old man for weeks now. Emotions are high an' they're as tense as one can git, 'specially the red one. Which reminds me, an' this is important, kid, so pay attention." The sheriff leaned closer, commanding Frank's complete attention. "When yeh meet 'em again, don't take red's reaction to yah too personal, son. Red won't never admit it, but he loves his da' more'n anythin' in this world."

"Uh...okay," Frank replied, unsure on just what the hell the sheriff was talking about. "I...I still have no idea what I'm doing here, though."

"Hell, kid, yeh still haven't figured it out yet?" When Frank shook his head, the right corner of the sheriff's mouth curled up. "Well, 'den, 'ere's a hint; name one thing 'dat the Ol' West is infamous for."

"High noon," Frank answered without thinking, then blinked when he realized what that meant. "Aw, no, please don't tell me that I gotta-"

"Hate to be 'da one breakin' it to yah, kid, but yeah, yer gonna face yer demon."

"My... my demon?"

"Yup. Every Goddamn livin' person has their own demons, each one different shape an' form, an' all are beaten in their own way. In your case, kid, starin' it straight in the eyes as you literally kill dat part of you is what is required."

"B-but..." Frank stuttered, his mouth gaping open like a fish, "I've never... shot anyone before."

"Uh-huh," the sheriff replied sarcastically. "Look, kid, Ah ain't gonna hold yer hand an' tell you what to do. That you gotta figure out yerself. But what Ah am gonna do is tell you that if you don't do this, then all you can do is continue lookin' in 'da other direction an' foolin' yerself that everythin' is fine. An' only a bloody fool would do sumthin' like that," he said, his tone not unkind. The truth in the words was cruel enough.

Outside, the clock tower started to ring, informing everyone that noon had begun.

"I'm..." Frank took a shuddering breath. "I'm scared."

"Courage is being scared to death, kid, but saddlin' up anyway."

"Right." Frank looked towards the exit, looking so far away and yet too close to him at the same time. The clock tower was still ringing as he slowly started walking, and then paused and looked back at the sheriff. "Ah, Mr. Way-"

"John, kid, call me John."

"John. What, ah, well...what's it like... b-being dead?"

"Hell, kid," the Duke grinned as he finished his drink, "if I told yah that, the whole damn thing wouldn't be so much of a mystery, now would it? Now git outta here an' face yer monster."

* * *

No one in town was in sight as Frank stepped out, save one, who stood in the middle of the street, waiting for him.

"Took you long enough," M.J. grumbled.

"I... got sidetracked," Frank replied, earning a snort from M.J.

"Yeah, I bet. So, we gonna do this or what?"

"I don't have a gun."

"Oh, yeah? And what do you call that, a fuckin' dildo?"

Frank blinked and looked at his right hand, which now held an old gun. It looked like it was ready to fall apart, and Frank couldn't quite suppress a shiver when in holding the gun felt so familiar.

"Showtime."

Hearing those words, Frank looked up and saw to his horror that M.J. was reaching for his gun, and for one horrible second he didn't know what to do.

Then, just as M.J. was about to aim his gun, Frank's survival instincts kicked in.

**BANG**

Both of them stood frozen, both pointing their guns at the other, neither of them moving.

Then, M.J. shuddered and fell down.

Frank stood frozen for a long time, not believing what he had just done. And then slowly, he walked up to M.J.'s body, his eyes never looking away, never blinking. For a long time he just stared, his mind as numb as his emotions.

Frank took in a gulp of air, feeling like he was breathing for the first time in a long while, and that made him realize what he had just done.

"I...I did it," he whispered. M.J., his worst part, who had been in control for so long, who had done such horrible things, was now gone. Dead. Now, all his actions and decisions were his. Now he-

"God, enough of this bullshit," grumbled a terribly familiar voice.

Frank screamed and jumped backwards, his heart pounding in sudden shock, as the corpse at his feet shuddered and began to move. M.J.'s hands pressed against the ground and blood pattered to the dirt like crimson rain. He levered himself to his feet; his chest a gaping wound, but his eyes filled with an impossible, horrid life.

"Shit, with a scream like that, no wonder you created me," M.J. laughed as he inspected his gunshot wound. "Damnit," he mumbled, "how many times is this gonna happen to me?"

"B-but y-you're dead! I shot you! You're suppose to be…" Frank stammered, but became silent when M.J. looked at him.

"Dead? Gone? Vanished? Exorcised? Sorry, but you've been 'me' for too long, 'fraid you're stuck with me."

"But...but..." Frank faltered again and M.J. sighed deeply.

"Lemme guess. You confront your inner demon 'whatever' in a classic psychological coma scenario, lay everything that you have done wrong or fucked up at his feet, kill him, and then you're Scot-free. Is that what you were hoping for with this charade?" M.J. asked sarcastically and Frank looked away, his shoulders slumped.

"...yes," he whispered.

"Well, for what it's worth, you did a heck of a job creating the setting," M.J. replied as he looked around. "Ol' West vibe an' everythin'. And the thing with the Duke? Fuckin' brilliant."

"Yeah...dunno why I placed him here, really. Only seen a movie or two with him in it," Frank answered. He gave M.J. a pointed look. "Still, can't blame me for trying to get rid of you, can you?"

"Nope, I'm that kind of bastard. Or, we are, to be more realistic," Frank opened his mouth to argue, but M.J. silenced him by pointing at the gunshot wound in his chest. "See this?" He then pointed mutely at Frank's own chest, and Frank looked down automatically.

A bullet wound marred his body in the exact spot as M.J.'s.

"Yup, that proves it," M.J. went on, ignoring Frank's horrified gasp, "no matter how hard you try that psychological bullshit, in the end, you only end up hurtin' yerself." He finally noticed Frank's stricken expression, and continued in a slightly gentler tone, "If you had tried this about a year or so ago, you probably would have succeeded. But now," M.J. paused for a second, searching for the right words, "...now, I'm as much you, as you are me."

Neither Frank nor M.J. said anything for a while, not due to lack of words, but because there was nothing left to say.

"Is it me," Frank finally said, "or is everything turning orange?"

"Nah, I'm seeing it, too," M.J. replied, looking around as the town and surrounding desert landscape seemed to melt away, slowly turning into orange goo, "which probably means you're gonna wake up soon."

"Here's hoping everything was just one big nightmare," Frank said dryly, although both of them knew otherwise.

"Yeah," M.J. agreed. "Oh, and I'm not really suppose to tell you this, but sometime in the future, there's a good possibility you may find yourself in a... situation."

"What kind of situation?" Frank asked, as the orange goo slowly oozed closer towards them.

"The kind of situation that gives ya two choices; roll over an' snitch on some people you know, or spit in their faces and tell them where to shove it. 'Course the second choice is gonna get you in some massive pain, but... well, at least you won't feel as disgusted as usual when you look in the mirror."

"That's more than I deserve," Frank stated as the goo slithered to his waist and slowly rose upward.

"No doubt. But, hey, what can you do?" M.J. asked rhetorically.

Frank may have intended to reply, but he never had the chance, for he was drowning in the orange slime, the stuff filling his lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

* * *

As M.J.'s senses refocused again, he became aware that he was on all fours, coughing and puking that orange gunk all over the floor.

"That's it, keep going, just let it all out," said a voice that sounded like it came from a distance. M.J. was distinctly aware of a hand gently but firmly tapping him on the back. He continued coughing and drawing breaths as the rest of his senses gradually returned, although his mind was still foggy. Slowly turning his head towards the source of the voice, M.J. saw Mr. Mortu's face, and in that moment, the memories came rushing back, reminding him where he was and why.

He couldn't help but groan as he looked away, causing Mr. Mortu to raise an eyebrow and look questioningly at the Guardian, who only shrugged.

* * *

"Well, Mr. M.J., I'm afraid I have some good news and bad news."

"I'd say the bad news is pretty obvious," M.J. mumbled as he held a hand in front of his eyes, the palm faintly illuminated by the glowing blue eyes.

"Yes, I'm sorry to say that we acted too late. The nano-probes had been inside your body for too long, and they are now too integrated into your systems. The best we could do was to…nudge them into the right places," came Mr. Mortu's voice as he wrote something into a small data-pad he held in his hands.

"So, what? They're finally doing what they're supposed to?" M.J. slurred, trying to keep himself awake, though for some reason he felt like he hadn't slept in days.

"More or less," Mr. Mortu replied and then quickly added after seeing M.J.'s look, "There are still a few things unclear, since you are quite literally a special case because of how the nano-probes were injected into you. You are no longer in a life-threatening condition, although there is still a chance the nano-probes may… do more harm."

"What _kind _of harm?" M.J. asked in irritation when Mr. Mortu didn't continue.

"Well," Mr. Mortu paused, no doubt trying to think of a way to explain to a simple gangster how highly sophisticated and advanced micro machinery worked inside the human body, "how do you see if there's anything wrong with a car? You start it and drive it around."

M.J. didn't speak a word, since his expression alone was sufficient.

Mr. Mortu slowly took a deep breath and stepped a bit closer to M.J., then spoke more quietly, "Mr. M.J., we are still debating on just how much we should reveal to you, what would be a proper amount of knowledge for you to know, and what is…not. So, I am going to take a risk." Mr. Mortu's expression reminded M.J. yet again of Splinter. The Guardian said nothing and not even his expression held any hint of his opinion on the matter. "The primary function of the nano-probes are to enhance your body; to boost your stamina, endurance, and, with the right training, your reflexes and hand-to-eye coordination. They also serve other purposes, but," Mr. Mortu raised a finger, as if to stop M.J. from speaking, "that is something I am not at liberty to say. The only way to actually see if everything is working as it's supposed to is to put them to the test."

"Which falls into the category of need-to-know," M.J. finished and Mr. Mortu nodded. None of them said anything for a few seconds, until a wave of drowsiness hit M.J. big time. "Man, I feel like I haven't slept for over a week. Is that normal?"

"Well, there was a bit of stress on the body while we reprogrammed the nano-probes, so yes, I'd say the tiredness is quite normal," Mr. Mortu said assuredly, though his voice was just a little bit too light, as if trying to silently prevent M.J. from asking something related to the subject.

"Uh, huh," M.J. replied. "So, tell me, doc, is it," M.J. hesitated a moment before he continued, "is it… normal to have dreams while sleeping in those pods?"

"Dreams?" Mr. Mortu tilted his head to the side, looking curious, as he picked up what looked like a medical scanner from Star Trek and started moving it around M.J. "What kind of dreams?"

"Well," M.J. paused, considering just dropping the subject while at the same time trying his best to ignore the scanner thingy and the annoying, high-pitched beeping sounds it emitted, "I…I can't really recall what exactly happened in it. It's all pretty fuzzy an' shit, but…I remember having some kind of argument with myself, I think, and my other self was pretty dammed pissed, if I recall correctly."

"Do you recall if there was any particular reason for that?" asked Mr. Mortu as he went over the scanner's readings.

"Well…I think because I shot him. Me. Or whatever." M.J. shrugged as Mr. Mortu gave him an odd look.

"Yes, I can see how that would be…annoying," Mortu slowly said, "but sometimes the environment of dreams can be more important than what is actually happening. Do you remember where it all happened?"

"Uh," M.J. tried his best to remember, but all he got were foggy images. "I think I was in one of them saloons. Y'know, those western bars." Mr. Mortu nodded, but didn't say anything in response. "I think John Wayne was there, too," M.J. added as an afterthought, "which is weird, since I'm more of a Clint Eastwood type of guy when it comes to western movies."

"Well, I'm sure it will come back to you in time," Mr. Mortu said as he finished with the scanner. "I'm not detecting anything out of the ordinary as far as I can see. That is a good sign, but like I said before, more direct tests are required." Mr. Mortu paused as M.J. let out a huge yawn, "which we can do after some well needed rest."

"Uh huh," M.J. mumbled, looking like he hadn't heard a word of what Mr. Mortu had said. And then, amidst the sleepiness, a random thought suddenly occurred to him. "Hey, what's his name, anyways?"

"Who's?" Mr. Mortu asked as he placed the scanner where it belonged.

"Y'know," M.J. slowly said and lazily waved his hand, as if searching for the correct words, "that big croc… thingy. He never told me his name."

Both Mortu and the Guardian looked at M.J. with very odd expressions, as if not believing what they had just heard.

"…what?" M.J. asked.

Both shared a look before Mr. Mortu answered, "Ah, nothing, Mr. M.J. Just," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "he didn't tell you?"

"No," M.J. answered, starting to feel a bit irritated as he realized he was missing something, "hence the question."

"Well," Mr. Mortu said, "I, ah, I think that is something he would want to tell you himself."

_Something is going on here_M.J. instantly thought, though careful not showing his suspicion,_ Hell, even in my state I can spot it. But I have a feeling I won't get any answers from these two, which is the only reason why I'm not going to push it._

"Well," Mr. Mortu stated, quickly changing the subject, "I believe we've done what we can, for now. Guardian," he turned to the silent Neo-wannabe, "please take Mr. M.J. to his room for some well needed rest."

"Yes, Mr. Mortu," the Guardian said, making a bow.

_Fuckin' ass kisser_, M.J. thought as he staggered to his feet, feeling a momentary dizziness. The sensation quickly passed, but before he could move, the Guardian walked up to him and pulled out a familiar blindfold.

"Aw, come on," M.J. groaned, but already knew it was pointless.

* * *

The elevator doors closed and a slight lurch indicated that they were moving up. A couple of seconds passed in silence, until M.J. broke it.

"So how long was I out, anyways?"

"Pardon?" came the Guardian's voice on his right.

"You know, how long was I in that pod-thingy?"

"It took some time to do a thorough search for all the nano-probes," the Guardian said carefully, and, no doubt due to the blindfold, M.J. detected a hesitance in the man's voice, "and after that was done, manually checking every single probe was necessary to…"

"Yo, I asked for how _long_ I was out, not what you guys did to me," M.J. said with a bit more force than he intended, as a growing dread slowly formed in his stomach.

A tense silence was in the air while the Guardian debated how to answer, then with great hesitancy, answered bluntly.

"….four months."

For a couple of seconds, the only thing breaking the silence was the sound of the elevator moving.

And then M.J. ripped off his blindfold.

"Four months!? _Four fucking months_?!?" he screamed into the Guardian's face, who showed no surprise at the expected reaction. "What the fuck!" M.J. shouted again and then tried to pace back and forth in the small moving enclosure as curses and yells spilled from his lips.

"If it is any consolation," the Guardian said calmly, after M.J. had run out of breath, "we slowed down the workings of your body. So, to you, only four days, a week at most, have passed."

"It ain't no fuckin' consolation!" M.J. yelled. He looked like he was about to continue cursing, when the elevator stopped and the doors opened, revealing a long hallway riddled with doors. "And what the fuck is that!?" M.J. pointed, as the Guardian calmly stepped out of the elevator.

"Your new quarters," he said as M.J. ran to keep up. There were no visible markings or signs on any of the doors, making it look like a random choice when the Guardian stopped in front of one. A second passed and then the door opened all by itself and the Guardian stepped through. M.J. paused for a moment, before hesitantly following.

It was a simple room, with no decorations or pictures on the metal walls. There was a bed in the corner where M.J.'s clothes were neatly folded, all cleaned up, along with a desk that contained a built-in keyboard. Another door near the desk was opened halfway, through which M.J. could spot a shower and a toilet.

"Until your fate is decided, you will stay here," the Guardian said calmly, his tone leaving little to argue with. Before M.J. could say anything, he pointed at the desk. "The computer here has an internet access, where you can catch up on what has transpired during your absence. We are monitoring it twenty-four seven, however, and any attempts to send messages or make contact with the outside world will result in complete cut off, and you will not be given such a privilege again."

"Will I get cut off if I try to access porn sites?" M.J. asked. Not the wittiest remark in the world, but his tiredness was affecting him somewhat.

"Especially porn sites," the Guardian replied, in such a way that M.J. couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or deadly serious. But before he could decide which it was, the Guardian made his way out of the room and turned around to face M.J. "Food will be delivered to you in a few hours."

And with that, the door closed just as mysteriously as it had opened.

"…asshole," M.J. muttered, turning around and looking longingly at the bed, and then back at the keyboard.

_I'll just take a peek at today's headlines and then I'll go to bed, _M.J. decided. He walked up to the desk and was about to sit in front of it when he realized something.

"Hey!" he shouted, stalking up to the closed door, which did not open for him. "Hey! Where the hell is the computer screen?" He hit the metal door a few times, but it didn't open, nor was there a reply.

_Dumb bastards_, M.J. grumbled as he walked away from the door and, for no reason whatsoever, slammed his fingers on the keyboard. The instant it happened, a small burst of light appeared just above the keyboard.

"Fuck!" M.J. yelled as he jumped back in fright, grabbing the chair and holding protectively in front of him.

There, hovering just above the keyboard was something that looked like what one would see on a computer screen, only there was no frame around it to support it. Without thinking, M.J. carefully stepped closer and reached his hand out, gently poking at the 'screen'. It caused a slight ripple, along with an electric tingling sensation in his finger, but nothing else happened. He slowly pulled his hand back and stepped to the side of the desk. On the wall, he spotted what looked like a built-in camera, and it appeared to be the source of the 'computer screen.'

_The weird factor has officially blown through the roof_, M.J. thought as he placed the chair back on the floor and sat on it, facing the keyboard. For a few minutes, he looked over the keyboard, until he spotted a small black square next to it, resembling a laptop's touchpad. Pressing, he slowly traced a finger down its length, and the arrow on the screen moved as well.

_What kind of place is this?_ M.J. thought. A feeling slowly grew inside him, a mixture of horror and dread, as he now realized that whatever was going on, he was way out of his league.

_Okay, okay, just calm down. Check today's news and then go to sleep. Yeah… like that's gonna happen now,_ he brooded as he checked the news. The headlines read, _'Detective Richards Soap found guilty for obstruction of justice!'_

Thirty minutes later and M.J. had found out that crime still happened in New York, an idiot was still sitting in the White House, Iraq was messed up more than ever, politicians whined and bitched about the world's problems, yet were too lazy to fix it themselves. Pollution was at an all time high and somebody had attacked some building belonging to some big time Japanese corporation here in New York couple of weeks ago.

With the exception of the Red Socks winning the World Series, nothing earth shattering had happened during these four months.

_Hell, its like I never left_, M.J. concluded as he stood up and stretched. He was about to go to bed when a gentle knock suddenly came from the door. He paused for a moment and then made his way over to it, only to discover that there was no knob or a button or anything that looked like it would open the door.

"Hey, how do I open this…" but M.J.'s yell cut off abruptly when the door hissed open. He blinked in surprise, then very slowly turned his head up to look at the visitor's face, "…door?"

"I brought you some soup," the giant crocodile said with a slight nervous tone in his voice. M.J. just stared at him for a few seconds and then blinked as the words sunk in. He looked at the tray the big reptile was holding, which held a bowl of greenish colored soup and a glass of water.

"Uh, th-thanks," M.J. stuttered as he accepted the tray. None of them said anything for a few seconds, creating an embarrassing silence. Finally, M.J. shrugged slightly and said the first thing that came into his mind, "So, ah, wanna come in?"

"Certainly," the croc said and, unless M.J. was mistaken, in an oddly happy tone, too. But he dismissed it and headed back to the desk to place the tray on it. At the sound of rough leather scrapping against metal, M.J. turned to see that the big croc had to slightly bend his knees and turn sideways so he could make it through the door. Once inside, all of a sudden the room looked very, very small.

"…So," M.J. slowly said, resisting the great urge to take a step away from the very big mutant croc, "what kind of soup is this?"

"Basically, it holds what proteins, vitamins and nutrition the body needs daily," the croc stated matter-of-factly. M.J. nodded as he sampled the soup, which tasted like it was made out gym sock sweat and some battery acid thrown in for extra taste. It took every ounce of willpower not to instantly spit the foul stuff from his mouth, and ten times as muchnot to show on his face how disgusting it was. Which was nothing compared to what it took to swallow.

"G-good stuff," M.J. whispered as he achieved the impossible, all but breaking into a sweat in the effort of not throwing up. The croc's face lit up, however, confirming M.J.'s suspicion that the 'big guy' had personally made the foul thing for him.

_Which means I gotta finish the damned bowl or I'll end up hurting his feelings_, M.J. concluded, most unhappily, although he honestly didn't want to risk hurting or insulting the croc, as strange as that might have sounded. Didn't mean he was going to _jump _on the bowl, however.

"Say, I didn't catch your name," M.J. said casually as he slowly stirred the soup, intent on delaying eating the slop for as long as he could. After some seconds passed in silence, M.J. looked up at the croc, whose face held an odd expression.

"Yes…my name," he slowly said, looking like he was debating with himself about something. And then, even stranger still, he took a deep breath and looked squarely into M.J.'s eyes. "My name is Leatherhead."

"Leatherhead?" M.J. blinked, "Hey, ain't that a funny coincidence. I once had this baby croc who I also…named…" M.J. trailed off as he looked into the croc's eyes, now realizing why they had looked so familiar. Last time he had seen them was several years ago on a small hatchling that he had cared for.

"Leatherhead…" M.J. whispered without realizing, and the croc nodded. Silence filled up the room, the soup completely forgotten.


End file.
